


The Premeditated Mystery

by UniversalMind19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Am I missing anything else, Anal Sex, Blood, Bottom Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottom!Lock, Case Fic, Confessions, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hostage Situations, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Love Confessions, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, My First AO3 Post, My First Work in This Fandom, Needles, Panic, Poision, Pre-Reichenbach, Set after Hounds of Baskerville, Slow Burn, Smut, This will not lead up to Reichenbach, Threats of Violence, Top John, Top John Watson, Trapped, first fic, mention of domestic abuse, mention of suicide, s2, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-02-09 10:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18636010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniversalMind19/pseuds/UniversalMind19
Summary: Sherlock and John are invited to attend a murder mystery dinner/party. Sherlock doesn't want to go but John is stubborn. When they arrive, however, everything is not what it seems. A beloved consulting criminal decides to take over the festivities and make the pretend murder mystery game, into a real one. With an added twist. Will Sherlock and John be able to solve the case? And during all this, why are sudden personal secrets of theirs coming to the surface?





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock fan fic. For years, I've only been an avid reader in the Sherlock fan fic world and have finally decided to partake in it. At this point in time, it is already 2019 and way passed early Sherlock seasons. My ideas though, have always been with me and its time to share them, even if I have to turn the clock back. lol  
> This is based on a murder mystery party I threw for my friends and I, for my 19th birthday, years ago. Please enjoy!

          The sun shined a brand new day as its rays cleared the morning fog. The life of London began to wake and started its daily chaos. Traffic flow passed by the Baker St. residences, disturbing some late sleepers with a bit of honking and road rage. Speedy's cafe lifted their gate and opened their doors to prepare for the morning rush. Early bird workers and pedestrians tucked themselves in warm garments as they headed to their responsibilities. Some stopping by the cafe and grabbing their teas and coffees. One particular early bird, Dr. John Watson up above in 221B, took his last bite of toast before lifting his coat of its hook. Shouting his goodbye and closing that flat door behind him, he rushed down the 17 steps and out the building to the clinic. He left behind a consulting detective in the kitchen bent over a microscope in his familiar glory.

          Sherlock, still in his sleep attire and blue dressing gown, was conducting an experiment on human toes. What kind of experiment, one could not say, it was out of sheer boredom that he decided to even bother with the severed appendages. They were promised to him by Molly, Bart's prized Pathologist, for helping her solve the mystery of her missing cat. The award was the only reason Sherlock reluctantly took the case, otherwise would have suggested she adopt a new one. However, it wasn't a hard task, for he located the beloved feline in just about 5 minutes. The cat was at the end of the block befriending an old woman who was feeding it treats. "Seems your cat prefers chicken and liver, Molly. Perhaps you should change your selection." Molly expressed her gratitude and gave him the toes she promised. Loads of toes. Now, having absolutely nothing to do, Sherlock took the opportunity to see what kind of results he would find if he exposed the toes to all kinds of conditions and substances.

          Lestrade hasn't called nor texted for about 5 days now and Sherlock was going mad. All the cases he had received through John's blog were all simple enough to solve from home and no one has come ringing their door bell. All he could do to keep himself from tearing apart the flat to search for cigarettes, that John relocated, was to create experiments. So far, they have been distracting enough but he could already feel his mind getting more desperate by the minute. To top it all off, John has decided to pick up more shifts at the clinic. He claims that he needs more money to pay off his share of bills and expenses. Sherlock argued that he had more than enough to cover the cost of everything but John wouldn't hear it. Saying that he isn't the type to be dependent on people if he is able to work. Sherlock admired him for that, ever the responsible man that he is. Still, having John away created a silence in the flat that was normally welcome but now heavy with loneliness. Quite a few things have changed ever since meeting John. Things Sherlock never realized he missed. Things he realized he was longing for. A friend. A friend that liked him for who he was. After years of being bullied and called a freak for his incredible abilities, Sherlock gave up on trying to create friendships. John was the first person, in a very long time, that didn't run away or assault him for rattling off his deductions. The man made an impressive impact and now Sherlock can't see his life without his companion. That being said, it was annoying to be apart from him. Especially at this very moment.

          Once again, Sherlock lost track of time. As much as his experiment seemed to have kept him distracted for the last few hours, it is now passed the afternoon and has reached its dull peak. "Ugh, this is getting nowhere." Sherlock stood from his seat in the kitchen and made way to the sofa. Plopping down onto his back, he took a deep breath and attempted to relax. It was useless but there was nothing better to do. _Maybe I should reorganize my mind palace._

          Before he could however, Mrs. Hudson's footsteps came up the stairs announcing her impending entrance. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned over onto his side, maybe pretending to be asleep would drive her away. The door opened, "Woo hoo! Good afternoon, Sherlock!" the old woman, in a lovely floral dress, strolled inside holding a bundle of mail in her hands, not at all fooled by him. "I brought you boys your mail. It was with my things again. I hadn’t noticed until I came back from the shops. That postman always mixing our things together. Really, is it that difficult to tell the difference between A and B? He certainly has mistaken my building for Mrs. Turner’s. You know, Mrs. Turner's tenants, the married ones, had received a package once and I had thought it was my new oven mitts I had ordered. But when I opened it, it was a long purple-"

"Mrs. Hudson, I have heard this story countless of times! I don't care what our neighbors are purchasing, let alone sex toys! Now, if you have nothing of importance to tell me or perhaps a case to give me, please leave me in solitude as I rot on this sofa and resist tearing this flat apart to satisfy my craving for nicotine!" Sherlock slammed a sofa pillow over his head and curled into himself. Mrs. Hudson tossed the bundle of mail onto the coffee table and crossed her arms. "I really do need to speak to your mother. Whatever it is you are sulking about, there is no need to be rude to me, young man." she huffed. "I don't sulk." came the muffled reply. She chuckles at him, finding the irony amusing. He's like a son to her, she knows he would never be cruel to her but all sons do get annoyed by their mothers. Unlike most people think, Sherlock is very emotional, easily disgruntled when things don't go his way. So, she doesn't take his attitude to heart very much. It's the way he's always been and honestly, she's dealt with worse. Having been the wife to a drug dealer and all. You learn a thing or two in dealing with addicts. Especially addicts who haven't had a fix in a while. Seems to her that Sherlock was in need of a fix, for a case. "Has John gone to work?" she asks the sulking lump. A confirming grunt comes from under the pillow. Mrs. Hudson sighs, "John should know better than to leave you in this state. Last time you shot up my walls!" Sherlock smirks at the memory but kept silent. "Who knows what else you'll destroy next. Oh, John, he best come home soon." With that she leaves the flat, shutting the door and walks down to her own, deciding to continue her daily chores and rituals. As soon as Sherlock hears her door click shut, he sits up from his position. What could possibly occupy him in the meantime? John won’t be home for at least another hour. He needed more distractions. Well what he really needed was a case. Quickly retrieving his phone from his trouser pocket, he fires off a text to Lestrade.

______________________________

              (Give me a case. -SH)

(Don’t have any for you.)

                 (Then get one! -SH)

(For God’s sake Sherlock!)

(What about John’s blog?)

     (Already solved those! -SH)

                    (Need more! -SH)

(Well too bloody bad!)

______________________________

“Ugh!” Sherlock tossed his phone onto the coffee table, uncaring to its, not so gentle, landing. He bent forward, his elbows on his knees, brought his hands up to his messy curls and ruffled them as he usually does when frustrated. Lifting his head, he scanned the room to find something, anything, to occupy his bored mind. Everything was in its usual place. Books, papers, equipment. Everything stood still. It wasn't until a familiar speck of red light caught his eye. Very faint and very tiny but unmistakable. "I suppose a little cleaning wouldn't hurt." he says to himself. Sherlock rarely cleans and only if it is creating restrictions for his work or John starts a row. Today, however, is a different kind of cleaning he'll be doing. Standing up, he begins his new task.

**********

          The familiar gate of John Watson ascended the stairs, finally home. As he reaches the final step onto the landing, he takes a deep breath and with a sigh, he opens the sitting room door to walk inside. Only to halt in his step. 221B was a disaster. Books and papers all over the floor and falling off the edge of the sitting room table, furniture slightly askew and cushions from the chairs and sofa were tossed about. After a long day at work, coming home to what seemed to be the after math of a tornado was not something he deemed pleasurable. John stood there staring at the mess as he assessed the situation. Either Sherlock got utterly desperate for his hidden cigarettes or someone invaded their home and possibly attacked Sherlock. Honestly, he didn’t know which one he preferred. Dealing with either was not going to be fun.

          Movement from the kitchen caught John’s ear. “Sherlock?” he called out, “In here” came the reply. John stepped over the scattered mess on the floor as he walked over to the kitchen. He was met with the sight of Sherlock, crouched under the kitchen table. The kitchen was in its usual state of disaster, only the table chairs were kicked out. Seemed the sitting room got the worst of whatever Sherlock was doing. “What the hell are you doing?” John asked when Sherlock popped his head out from under the table. Cobwebs clung to his hair, “Cleaning” he answered. John couldn’t help a small smile at the dusty webs in his hair, “What, with your head?”. It was the only thing he found amusing in this situation for the fact that he had a deep feeling that Sherlock would give up his “cleaning” and leave John to pick up everything that he left behind. Sherlock came out from under the table and stood, dusting himself off, “Lestrade has still proven himself to be useless and has failed to provide me with a case. I became restless after wasting a few good experiments just to entertain myself, but alas I found something a bit more productive.” He grinned at John, almost proud. “Productive?” John questioned, looking around at the state of the flat. “Yes, I’d say so.” Sherlock said as he held up to John, 3 very small black devices in his palm. Each one had a tiny red lightbulb at an end, currently switched off.

“Are those-“

“Yes, bugs! Planted around the flat by my dear meddling brother. Found the first one in the sitting room hidden on the mantle, perfect place to ease drop on our conversations. The second was under the coffee table, lazy that. The third was an easy deduction, going by the fact that he did indeed chose an easy hiding place for the second, under the kitchen table would have been the logical choice. Easy reach for him without having to bend or break his back. He easily exhausts himself with any physical activities. Which is why he always bothers me to solve his cases, despite the fact he can very well solve them on his own. He claims to be a very busy man but I know very well he has plenty of time to set aside for something that should be top priority, like losing the missile plans by placing them in the hands of a drunk. So! Conclusion, lazy. Well to be fair, I grew up with the pompous arse, so I already knew that. By now though, he would have caught on about my discoveries and has turned off any more bugs, possibly hidden elsewhere. I’d say have a thorough look in your bedroom, preferably around easy reach furniture. He wouldn’t have reached too high or too low to hide them. That’s also considering if he even made it up the second set of stairs.” Sherlock smirked.

          John stared at the man as Sherlock quickly answered his unspoken questions. He blinked and after a few seconds of silence he spoke, “Right. Okay. So, Mycroft bugged our flat and has been listening in this entire time? Only now you’ve just discovered them and you had to tear up the flat to do it? And that, one could possibly be in my bedroom?”

“I just explained it to you. Weren’t you listening?”

          John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he can already feel a headache begin to pulse between his eyes. “Fantastic, just what I wanted” he murmured sarcastically. “And I suppose you’re thinking about leaving this mess to me?” John looked up at Sherlock with a hard expression as if daring him to answer yes. He most definitely will not be cleaning up after him. Too many times, John has had to clean the flat because Sherlock Holmes doesn’t care for chores. How the man ever lived on his own, he doesn’t know. Maybe this would explain the meddling older brother. Still, Sherlock is a grown man, not John’s responsibility.

          Sherlock turned away and resumed his search at the kitchen sink and counter, looking behind the small appliances. “Of course not, John!” he replied, “I’m not even finished yet.” John rolled his eyes and walked back into the sitting room, still minding his step over papers and books. If it was so easy to find, then why such a mess? Granted it wasn’t the biggest mess Sherlock has made but he still thought it was unnecessary. Then again, Sherlock can never do things in halves. Regardless, John was determined to shower, eat, relax and sleep without having to lift a finger in Sherlock’s mess. “I’m not clean anything, you did this so its yours to clean!” he said loudly as he hung up his coat. No reply came from the kitchen, so John went about to do exactly what he set out to do. Starting with a quick search in his room for bugs, then a nice shower.

**********

          John did not find a bug in his room. He could’ve missed them but he checked every plausible hiding place according to Sherlock’s suggestions. All he came across was dust bunnies and a couple fallen socks he had been missing for a while. He figured maybe Mycroft was just as lazy as Sherlock claimed him to be or Mycroft was only concerned with listening in on just Sherlock. Either way, Mycroft invaded their privacy and he noted to himself to remember to tell the man off when he sees him in person. It’s astounding to know, these are the lengths that Mycroft takes to look after his younger brother. And who knows how much farther he’s willing to go. No wonder Sherlock was always irritated by him. Speaking of Sherlock, when John exited the loo from his shower, it seemed that he wrapped up his bug search and tidied everything back to its original state. Or at least close to it. He also had changed into black trousers and a deep burgundy dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and his feet bare. The mad man was already onto his next activity, whatever it was. By the sound of it, it required a blow torch. John walked up to his room to dress and silently prayed that he wouldn’t find the flat up in flames.

**********

          When John came back down, Sherlock had 2 glass beakers and a small metal bowl, lined up on the kitchen table. Each container had one of Mycroft’s bugs in it. All 3 were destroyed in different ways. One was submerged in what had to be sulfuric acid, tiny foam like bubbles rose to the top as the little device began to slowly fall apart and dissolve, thin vapors rising out if it. Another, in the metal bowl, must have been dipped in liquid nitrogen, it was completely frozen. Sherlock did have a liquid nitrogen thermos stored safely somewhere, he must have dipped it in there. The last one was in flames. Sherlock sat at the table, staring at it as he held the blow torch in his hand, thankfully now turned off. John didn’t know how much longer Sherlock would hold out until they got another case. He was getting to the point of boredom to now destroy things. At least those things were of a nuisance and unwelcome in their home, so John wasn’t bothered by it. At the moment, that is. John walked over to the coffee table in the sitting room, looking for the daily paper but instead found a small collection of mail, untouched. He gathered the envelopes and began to sort through them. Bills, credit card junk, more bills and what seemed to be a card in a very fancy cream envelope.

          The borders of the envelope were pressed with a gold design and the penmanship of their address was in beautiful calligraphy. For a second, John wondered if he knew anyone who was going to get married soon, as it seemed to be what you would expect a wedding invitation to look like. He carefully opened the envelope, as to not tear anything inside and removed the thick card stock. The card matched the envelope in its theme and was indeed an invitation, just not to a wedding. It was an invitation to a Murder Mystery Dinner. The card provided information as to whom it was from, when and where the dinner was taking place as well as why it was taking place. A few weeks ago, John and Sherlock were working on a case for a married couple, Timothy and Olivia Wilson. Mr. Wilson and his wife are heads of an establishment associated with exotic and rare goods for sale. A scandal broke out through rumors and whispers that they were selling and smuggling illegal good. Mrs. Wilson contacted Sherlock to help disprove the evidence against them. They claimed they were being framed. John was skeptical at first, the evidence against them was very convincing but Sherlock managed to find the discrepancy. Unfortunately, they never came to discover who had framed them but after what felt like weeks, they finally closed the case and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were able to evade a serious charge and save their business. Now it seems they wanted to celebrate with a themed dinner. The choice of theme was questionable though. Why murder mystery?

“Hey, Sherlock?” John called out. No answer came, so John took the invitation with him to the kitchen, where his flatmate was sitting, still watching the burning bug melt and crumble. “We got invited to a party, well dinner actually. From Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, from that case a couple weeks ago.” John held out the invitation for Sherlock to see. Sherlock looked up at John, confused, then barely glanced at the card. “Oh for god sakes, another one of those ‘thank you for your services’ things where we have to stand and smile for pictures while they ask how I did it and then attempt to pry into our personal lives? Absolutely not.” Said Sherlock as he turned back to the beakers. The one in flames now died out and the glass beaker was almost all black, smoke rising from the inside. John rolled his eyes, “It’s a dinner so I doubt there would be any press. Should be private enough. Even if it isn’t, it shouldn’t be that bad.” John tried to convince him.

          Sherlock reached for a pair of crucible tongs on the table and began to poke around the remains of the burnt bug, “I’d rather listen to Mrs. Hudson on repeat about how she thinks Mrs. Turner’s tenants and I should be friends. No, John, I won’t be attending that dinner.”

“You haven’t even heard the best part.” John smirked.

“And pray tell what the best part is?” Sherlock reached for the bowl with the frozen bug and grasped the frostbitten device with the tongs, inspecting the condition.

“It’s a murder mystery themed dinner.” John held in the snort and giggle threatening to escape as he watched Sherlock’s head whip back at him with a horrified expression. He couldn’t help the cheeky smile though. It was always funny to see Sherlock surprised or cut off guard. It was also really cute.  _Wait, what?_

“They can’t be serious. They invited ME to a murder mystery party? Are they joking? Is this a joke?” Sherlock finally took a better look at the card as John once again held it out to him to prove it. He read it and then continued speaking his disbelief, “Why on earth are they hosting a murder mystery party? Their case had no murder involved!” John placed the card on the table between them and crossed his arm, “Maybe they wanted to thank you in a way they thought would please you.” He did ask himself the same question but honestly, he has never been invited to a murder mystery party and was a little curious about what it was like. He’s heard about them sure and he knew the way it usually was set up and played out. But living with a consulting detective and learning a thing or two from him, he thought maybe he could actually be good at a murder mystery game. That is of course if Sherlock doesn’t ruin the whole thing before it’s even started.

“They’re idiots! I won’t subject myself to roleplaying a stupid character, listening to other people INACCURATELY portraying other characters and then must guess which one the murderer is. Not to mention that they most always ask for you to dress in costume. In period clothing, no less. I won’t do it.” Sherlock pointed to John sternly with the tongs still holding the frozen bug. John really wanted to attend the dinner now, just to see Sherlock exactly in that ridiculous scenario and in a ridiculous costume. He could almost picture Sherlock dressed in a 1920’s dapper suit or even an American wild west costume set with a cowboy hat, gun holsters and boots with the spurs. That image was really amusing, he tried his best to make sure his face didn’t give away his thoughts. He’s heard about murder mystery parties usually being set in the 1920’s but also had heard once from an old friend, who often visited America, who had attended a western themed one. He wondered now, what Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had planned for the party and if they really were going to make their guests dress up.

“I thought you liked putting on a persona? Dressing up in disguise and a pretending to be someone else and what not?” John questioned as he uncrossed his arms and set his hands on his hips, preparing to challenge Sherlock. He felt determined to get his way this time. Sherlock returned the frozen bug back into the bowl and stood, speaking as he walked to sitting room, “Should taking on a disguise or persona prove useful to a case then I shall utilize it. For the betterment of solving a CASE, not to deliberately entertain simpletons who find it enjoyable to arrange a festivity based on crime solving. For which they have no real skill for and the mysteries are incredibly predictable. Murder mystery parties are for idiots, John. Child’s play.” Sherlock approached his violin, removing it from its case and proceeded to tune up. John knew this was Sherlock’s way of ending the conversation but he wasn’t done.

          John had wanted to go to the dinner just for the amusement of seeing Sherlock attend. However, Sherlock just bluntly professed that anyone who liked or attended murder mystery parties were simpletons. Idiots. Now, he wanted to go just to spite Sherlock. But not without him. “I think we should go anyways.” John declared. Sherlock faced the front window, ignoring John and began to play. An original piece it seemed. “Sherlock, we are going to the murder mystery dinner!” Sherlock continued to ignore John and played louder. John’s headache was getting stronger now, no longer just a threat. He tried to tamp down the irritation he was feeling to decrease his rising blood pressure. He understood Sherlock’s dislike for these types of social obligations. But if Sherlock wanted more cases, then he needed to, occasionally, show up to these things. Keep the business running, as they say.

“Sherlock!” John tried once more but Sherlock was obviously tuning him out. John roughly exhaled his frustration and abruptly turned around back to the kitchen and retrieved the invitation from the table. Just as he was about to walk back, something on the back side of the card caught his eye. He flipped it over to discover a hand written message:

_Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, I cannot thank you both enough for what you have done to help my husband and I, to save our business. I invite you to our murder mystery dinner to celebrate the end of a horrible ordeal. I understand you are both busy men and I offer compensation, at whatever price, to have you join us. Please contact me personally at your earliest convenience so that we may discuss more details. - Olivia Wilson_

          Well that just sealed the deal for John. He looked up at Sherlock and with determined strides, he walked over to the detective. He reached for the man’s shoulder, turning him around and interrupted Sherlock’s playing, the bow skimming over the wrong strings in sudden movement. Sherlock, now facing John, had his brows furrowed and jaw dropped at John’s rudeness. Before he could speak, however, John held up the card in front of his face, silencing him. “We’re going.” the blonde stated. Sherlock closed his mouth and glared at John. He read the shorter man’s stubborn body language and made the deduction that John was dead set on this. “You can’t be serious!” he retorted, “Why?” he then inquired. John tossed the invitation onto the front room table and crossed his arms again, “Because, Mrs. Wilson has asked us to. She is a sweet woman, who’s been through a lot and I don’t want to disappoint her. It won’t kill you to attend and would do you good to gain more clients.”

Sherlock sneered, “Why not purchase a billboard instead, if you are so concerned with business?”

“You’re the one who throws a strop when there aren’t any cases! I’m trying to help keep it consistent! Which means, sometimes, attending dinner parties to build reputation!” John retorted.

“Reputation?” Sherlock scoffed, “Last I checked, my reputation was well known to be an unpleasant guest at parties, thus sparing me invitations. I’m pleased to be absent.”

“Not if I have any say in it. You do receive invitations, you just got one, and we’re going!” John pointed one finger to Sherlock’s face, adding finality to his word.

          The two men stared, glaring, at each other. Neither one seemed like they were going to back down. Both were rigid with stubbornness. Sherlock had come to learn that John proved, very much, a hard man to challenge. Physically, Sherlock was in a lot of ways inferior to John, his height adding only a small advantage. Intellectually, well…John wasn’t unintelligent, far from it, he was a doctor obviously. But Sherlock gave himself the superior point when it came to intellect. But when it came to stubbornness, they were at a tie. Which made instances like these, incredibly tense. It would have to take one of them to voluntarily give in to the other’s wishes or come to a compromise.

          Sherlock had already read in John, the determination to have him attend the dinner. There is no use in trying to proceed in changing his mind. Dragging this on wasn’t doing him any favors and he was still itching for a case, fighting with John won’t help. So, he will have to hope John is willing to come to a compromise or he would have to back down altogether. Neither was what he favored. At least the former had a bit more promise.

          Sherlock huffed and sagged his shoulders, “Fine! I’ll attend the sodding dinner. But if Lestrade calls while we’re there, we’re leaving.”

          John closed his eyes as he lowered his hand and took a deep breath in to calm himself. When he opened his eyes again, it was then that he realized he was standing rather close to Sherlock. Could practically smell him. He could scent the faint aroma of expensive body wash, the faded odor of formaldehyde and smoke from the burnt bug but just overall the familiar smell of Sherlock. When he took a smaller breath in, the scent seemed stronger, causing an involuntary flutter in his core. He ignored the flutter, as nothing about the situation should be giving him any belly flutters whatsoever. Not to mention that formaldehyde is not a pleasant smell. And the fact that he is very annoyed with Sherlock at the moment. So, he stores away his body reaction for a later time to dwell about. Now was not the time to dive into questioning his…feelings. _For fucks sake, I’m not gay. Don’t look at his neck._

          Sherlock furrowed his brows in question to John’s lack of response. John realized he had been staring at Sherlock for a little longer than he had meant to and mentally shook himself. “Fine. Whatever.” He finally replied and moved away from his flatmate to sit in his red chair.

          He retrieved his phone from his jean pocket and scrolled his contacts to Olivia Wilson’s number, which he still had saved from the case. The number was provided again on the invitation but he remembered he still had it. He usually only saves client contacts when the case runs on for quite a long while and then deletes them afterwards. However, fate would have it that he forgot this time and thankfully now making his call very easy.

Olivia answered around the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson! It’s John Watson.” Something in John’s peripheral view caught his attention as he heard Mrs. Wilson’s little delighted gasp. It was Sherlock, who had put away his violin and was now climbing on top of the sitting room table, not caring to the papers and such that he was stepping on with his bare feet.

“Doctor Watson! Oh, so glad to hear from you! How are you?” Mrs. Wilson was always a positive woman and very pleasant to be around, even when they went through the stress of the case. She was always trying to be helpful and encouraging. Another reason why John felt a little more determined to attend her themed dinner. How could he say no to such a wonderful woman?

“I’m doing well, thank you. How about yourself? Has everything been okay since we last saw you?” John watched as Sherlock reached for the mounted animal skull with headphones on the wall, lifting it off its hook and peering inside it through its empty eye sockets. John squinted at him in confusion.

“Oh yes! Everything has finally returned to normal! My husband of course is still feeling a little uneasy with it all happening in the first place. But I guess that kind of stress may take a little while longer to subside. I am doing my best to reassure him that everything is fine and that there is nothing to worry about! Despite Mr. Holmes not being able to find out the individual who started all this, I am sure the worst is behind us and we should move on.”

“Yes, I agree. I am sorry to hear that Mr. Wilson is still feeling uneasy, can’t say I blame him though. But I’m glad you’re doing well.” Sherlock placed the skull back onto the wall and turned to face the room, still standing on the now crumpled papers.

“Yes, thank heavens. And Mr. Holmes, I trust he is doing well also?”

“Uhh…” Sherlock jumped off the table and landed on his feet, creating a big thud which no doubt probably startled Mrs. Hudson, and sped off to the flight of stairs leading to John’s room. “Yea, yea he’s fine. Same as always. Um, I actually called because we received your invitation today. Wanted to let you know that we will be delighted to attend.” Thudding footsteps came over head, alerting John that Sherlock was definitely in his room and going through his stuff. He sprang to his feet and quickly walked to the foot of the stairs.

“Ohhh! Wonderful! I’m so pleased!”

“Yes, so is there’s anything we need to know, like a dress code or anything? Costume?” John jogged up the stairs to inspect Sherlock’s activities, only to be passed by the madman halfway, apparently done with whatever it is he was up to. John paused on the steps and watched Sherlock walk back down into the sitting room, out of sight.

“Well, at first when I was presented with the idea to throw the dinner, I had been tempted to theme it traditionally in a period setting. However, I purchased these wonderful devices recently that would add a more technical advancement to game. Never been done before!”

“Devices?” John continued his trek to his room to check for any mess, or any serious invasion of privacy. John was pretty much used to Sherlock going through his stuff by now but he still doesn’t appreciate it. Still very much peeved by it. And there were still a few things he didn’t want Sherlock to look into or get a hold of. Personal things, of course.

“Yes, a business man I met through my husband, has all the new high end, yet to release, technology. He showed me the latest in smart watches, including ones that are game compatible for when you have a large party and want to play an interactive game. He showed me the murder mystery game feature and I was sold! I have him to thank for my brilliant idea on hosting this dinner. And to top it all off, he gave me ten game watches for free! Ten! Can you believe it?”

“Wow, that’s amazing.” John entered his room to discover his bed spread was a little disheveled, drawers halfway shut and his closet door cracked open. Nothing too badly of place but obviously disturbed.

“I know! I just had to make it happen. So! I guess one could say this is modern themed murder mystery dinner. You both may come as you usually dress to a dinner party. As I mentioned in the invitation, I am willing to compensate you two for your time, as I know Mr. Holmes may have more pressing matters to attend to. I do hope it won’t keep him from a serious case, if it will then-“

“No, no it’s fine! Um, I mean I don’t know if we’ll have anything on but we should be able to attend.” John began to straighten everything back to how they were supposed to be.

“Good! I’m glad! Well then, I will see you in about a week or so, if you have any more questions, just give me a call. I am looking forward to seeing the two of you again.”

“Likewise. Give my best to Mr. Wilson.”

“Will do! Goodbye, Doctor Watson!”

“G’bye, Mrs. Wilson.” John hung up the call and fixed the rest of the room.

          Once everything was back in order, John went back down stairs to find that Sherlock wasn’t in the flat anymore. He was about to call out his name when he heard a small crash of glass down below and Mrs. Hudson yelling “Sherlock Holmes! That was one of my favorite cups!” _What the hell is he doing?_ John wondered.

          He raced downstairs to Mrs. Hudson’s door but before he could enter the flat, Sherlock stomped out with Mrs. Hudson seeing him out, “You owe me a new cup, young man!” she yelled after him as the frustrated detective ran back up the stairs, leaving John very confused and Mrs. Hudson very irritated. “What happened?” he asked the older woman. “He just barged into my flat and started going through my cabinets, then knocked over one of my favorite cups while doing so!” she huffed, crossing her arms. “Don’t know what he was looking for but if that behavior is anything to go by, I’d saying he’s getting very desperate. You better find him a case, John. Or we’ll be paying a great price.”

          John pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the stress headache throb again, he should have taken a paracetamol or something earlier. “Yea well, we’ve been trying to get something but it’s like all the criminals in London took a holiday and only petty ones are on shift.” He sighed. “Sorry, Mrs. H, I’ll replace your cup and see what I can do to keep him from destroying anything else.” _That’ll prove impossible, honestly._ Mrs. Hudson gave him a look that said she didn’t believe he could either. She stepped backwards, back into her flat again and raised an eyebrow at him, “You can try, dear.” She sighed, before closing her door.

          John walked back upstairs, heavy footed, not prepared to face a quickly getting out of control flatmate. If only Greg could call at this very moment and rescue him with a case. Or, hell, even a client with even a boring simple case. Or Molly with an interesting corpse. Or, even, Mycroft with an assignment of some sort. SOMETHING! He can’t remember if it’s ever been this bad. Well, there was that one time before Henry Knight came by with his hound of Baskerville, hidden in the moor. But this hiatus they are currently going through, has been the longest yet. And he has no idea how they are going to get through it if someone doesn’t show up soon with a case for them.

          When John re-enters their flat, he still doesn’t see Sherlock anywhere. “Sherlock?” he calls out this time. No answer comes but he notices that Sherlock’s bedroom door is slightly ajar. Usually the man either closes it fully or leaves it wide open. He’s getting careless then. John walks over to the room and just walks in without a word. He isn’t surprised by what he sees but isn’t happy about it either.

          Sherlock has his head out his bedroom window, smoking a cigarette. He seems unfazed that John has walked in nor concerned that he has been caught. He takes a deep drag and blows out to the fire escape. The man has his torso leaning on the window sill, supporting his weight on his elbows and his long legs are crossed behind him, casually.

          John crossed his arms for what felt like the billionth time today and scowled at Sherlock, “Where did you get that?”

“Hid one in Mrs. Hudson’s herbal soother drawer a long time ago. Just remembered about it today.” He explained then took another pull.

“Is that why you ransacked my room?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s exaggeration.

“I barely touched your room, no need to be dramatic.”

“Dramat- Sherlock, you went through my stuff! I’ve told you before, please respect my privacy! If you’re that desperate for something to do, then go to the yard! Go to Bart’s! I don’t care! But you can't keep doing that!” John’s voice raised at the lounging git. But the man still didn’t show any sign of being fazed by John’s distress, continuing to take long drags of the cigarette between his fingers.

“It’s not like I don’t already know what you keep inside your bedside drawer.” Sherlock muttered.

“That’s not the point.” John retorted.

          Sherlock sighed and took one last pull from the now shrunken cig, snuffing out the end on the window sill and flicking the butt out into the alley. He brought his head back into the room, ducking so that he doesn’t bang his head on the top window pane and closed the window shut. He turned to face John, who was still glaring at Sherlock and tried to walk past him.

          Before he could, however, John reached out a hand onto Sherlock’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Sherlock, I know this is tough for you, I get it. And I want to help, but you can’t just go on like this. You broke Mrs. Hudson’s favorite cup for God’s sake. I mean, what’s next?”

“What would you have me DO then?” Sherlock asked frustratingly.

          They stared at each other. Both tense, bodies standing still. Yet again, all too soon, John finds himself rather close to Sherlock. He could feel Sherlock’s warmth radiating through his palm, the burgundy dress shirt smooth under his touch. The top two buttons are undone revealing a peek of collarbone and accentuating his long neck. The color contrasted Sherlock’s pale, creamy skin, a few tiny birthmarks doting up his throat. John swallows out of impulse and the movement catches Sherlock’s attention. When he sees Sherlock’s eyes draw down to his throat, John isn’t able to resist the next impulse to lick his lips. This of course, draws Sherlock’s attention up to his mouth, causing John’s pulse to pick up pace. _What the hell is going on…_ When Sherlock brings his eyes to doctor’s, he discovers that John’s pupils are a lot more dilated than a moment ago. It’s obvious that there wasn’t any change in lighting. So…the only explanation available is-

          Someone’s phone blares it’s ringtone, snapping them out of the moment. John drops his hand from Sherlock’s chest and secretly misses the feeling. _Stop it. You’re not like that._

          Sherlock reaches into his trouser pocket and answers the offending thing without looking at the caller ID. “Sherlock Holmes.” He greets. John could hear the caller speaking to Sherlock but can’t make out what is being said, only a few words here and there. However, he does recognize the caller’s voice and thanks which ever deity is responsible for making Lestrade call upon them.

“I don’t care if it’s only a 4, where is it?” Sherlock’s eyes scan rapidly as he takes in the information the DI is providing him. John waits patiently for the call to finish. “Alright, we’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t touch anything.” He hangs up the call and immediately races out the room to retrieve his coat from it’s hook. John catches up behind him and does the same, “What is it?” he asks. They both feed their arms through their respective coats and gather their small necessities: keys, wallets, phones, etc. “Apparent break in at a jewelry store but nothing taken. Many glass cases shattered but no other signs of forced entry into the store. All doors still locked. The manager walked in this morning to open when she discovered the shattered jewelry cases.” Sherlock informed.

          They walked down the steps and out the building onto the sidewalk, Sherlock already hailing a cab. “Insurance fraud?” John suggested as they climbed into the cab that pulled over for them. Sherlock shook his head once, “Maddison Jewelers, please. I doubt they would be that stupid to simply break glass and leave expensive jewelry still in their places. But I need to see everything first before I can rule it out.”

“Surely, the security cameras would have caught what happened. Why is Lestrade calling you for it?” John questions even though he doesn’t particularly care since it’s getting them out of the flat. Sherlock shook his head again, “It seems the cameras were deliberately turned off last night. Or perhaps the footage was wiped. We’ll have to look at their security system. No alarms were triggered as well. It is adding up to be the works an inside job, so far.”

“Have they questioned any one yet? Besides the manager?”

“Only two others. Two Associates. But both don’t know anything, apparently. I suspect Lestrade is deliberately holding additional information from me to make the case more interesting. Surprisingly, I find myself not caring, at the moment.” Sherlock looks out the cab window, searching for their destination as they get closer. “That’s because you’re bored. Any other time, you wouldn’t have bothered.” John states as looks out his own window.

“Mm, true.” Sherlock murmurs.

          They pass the next couple of minutes in comfortable silence. Then the cab pulls over and comes to a full stop next to the parked police cars in front of the store. Sherlock pays the cabbie and they both exit the car. They approach the shop and are greeted by Lestrade who is waiting outside for them. “Glad you came, we found something else. Might bump this up to a 7.” Says the DI. “What?” John asks as Sherlock simply raises an eyebrow at Lestrade.

          Greg leads them into the shop without further word, passing broken glass and murmuring officers and shows them their new discovery. They are brought to a back room and are shown a big closet filled with some general store supply stock such as receipt paper, jewelry bags and boxes, empty displays, some office type supplies and as well as cleaning supplies. Including a mop that is still wet and bucket that is still filled with tainted water. Only the water wasn’t clear, nor brown with dirt. It was red.

 

Blood red.


	2. Maddison Jeweler's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maddison Jewelers has secrets. Isn't it obvious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to try to aim for updated more often but didn't realize how long these things can take haha. I will try my best! This chapter is shorter, I've split the second chapter as to not make it so heavy, so the next half will be posted as chapter 3 which will come at a later time! Also my dear friend @thelittleboffin agreed to be my beta! They have a busy schedule which may delay updates but I couldn't be happier with having such a wonderful friend helping me out with reviewing my work! Please check out their work as well!
> 
> Please bear with us with timing and thank you for reading! Enjoy!

          Sherlock, John and Greg stared at the murky red water. While John’s face expressed concern, Sherlock’s face expressed intrigue. The bucket was almost full to the brim with liquid, and the head of the mop was still submerged in it, the handle leaning out. It sat exactly in the middle of the closet and everything else was perfectly organized. Sherlock stepped closer and looked around the closet then reached into his coat pocket and took out his compact magnifying glass. Bending closer, he examined the handle of the mop and around the rim of the bucket. He was surprised by what he found, or rather what he didn’t find. There wasn’t any blood on either the mop handle or outer part of the bucket. No bloody fingerprints, nothing spilled out, no bloody drips on the sides. It was clean.

          Sherlock straighten up and turned to the detective inspector who waited for his input. “Did you call forensics?” Sherlock asked.

“On their way. Thought you’d want to take a look first before they got to it. Since you’re very particular.” The DI commented.

          Sherlock gave the man a side eyed glare and turned away from the closet, leaving to assess the main scene of the crime. “That’s because you have Anderson, useless, ruins and misses everything of importance. Let me have a look at everything else first, then.” Sherlock re-entered the main room of the store and began his investigation.

          The shop was what your average jewelry store may look like. Cases lined up along each side of the room with space behind them, for employees to walk and assist customers. Three glass display towers stood in the middle of the room, holding their jewels and still perfectly intact. Only the outer cases that lined the room were harmed.

          Glass crunched under Sherlock’s shoes as he got closer to the broken cases, observing the barely disturbed jewelry sitting in their places. Rings on one side, necklaces, earrings and bracelets on the others. Nothing missing. No empty spots. It looked as if the sole motive was to simply break the glass but not to steal. “Think maybe the person who did this possibly injured themselves and mopped up their blood?” John theorized to the consulting detective, standing close by and making his own observations, “It is a lot of glass.”

          Sherlock rolled his eyes secretly to himself, “Go talk to the manager, find out who’s currently employed and who has key access to the back rooms.” Sherlock ordered, “Specifically, that closet, I noticed it has a door lock. They didn’t unlock it until we were called.” Sherlock hopped over a short counter height door to continue his inspection from behind the cases.

          His shoes crunched over more glass and he searched the unlocked drawers which held no valuables. Common supplies, bags, jewelry boxes, receipt paper, glass cleaner, etc. Just like the closet but in smaller quantity. Even random miscellaneous things. In one drawer he did find, however, a small 6x4 notebook placed in the back corner, hidden by a dirty rag that he suspected was used to clean the glass cases. Inside the notebook, were scribbles of random calculated numbers and noted information of customers, obviously a note pad used by the employees when needed.

          As he turned further into the pages, he found what seemed to be small conversations between two people. Two different hand writings responding to each other, sometimes different ink too, different days. He skimmed the convos and the more he skimmed, the more flirtatious the conversations got. His interest peaked a little. There seemed to be a secret relationship going on here. None of the conversations seemed to hold any relation to the case, no crime plot or discussion about it to indicate a possible conspiracy but he did find an argument. It was the last and most recent conversation in the notebook. What he gathered from the argument, one person wanted the other to stop talking to someone unnamed. Jealousy? Infidelity? No, no the way the conversation played out was as if the one was warning the other. _Interesting…_

          He placed the notebook back into it’s hiding place and continued his search in other drawers. He found another notebook, but it only held numbers and notes like the other one but no personal conversations. So, adding to the obvious that the other notebook was only used between two specific employees.

          John did as he was told and searched for the manager. He didn’t have to look far, a solemn woman standing by the entrance talking with an officer, caught his attention. She was of mature age and very beautiful in her professional attire. If this weren’t a crime situation, John would have considered flirting with her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. Or rather shouldn’t. Before he could lose focus, he approached the pair and gently cleared his throat to announce himself.

          They paused in their serious conversation and turned their attention to him. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m Dr. John Watson here with Sherlock Holmes. Are you the manager?” The officer stepped away to leave them alone and the woman nodded her head, “Angela Hughes and yes, I am. I already told the police everything I know. I just came in this morning and it was like this. There is no one that is scheduled overnight, and I don’t know why the security footage is missing. I only had two of my four sales associates scheduled with me today and they were already questioned, they know nothing. The others have the day off and the shop owner is on holiday in Greece. I have absolutely no idea how this happened.”

“The sales associates that are with you today, did they work yesterday?” John asked.

“No, but the ones that are off today, did.” She answered.

“And do all of you have keys to the store?”

“Just the shop owner and me. The others only have keys to the cases and the door leading to the back room.”

“Did you have anyone else employed here that had a key? Someone who might have had ill intent, someone who quit or was fired? Let go?” John questioned.

          Ms. Hughes furrowed her brows, “Actually yes, our security guard. Ryan Duncan. He was let go months ago. We’ve been struggling to find a replacement.” John pulled out a pen and note pad from his coat pocket and wrote the name. “But he didn’t do it.” She added.

          John looked up at her, a little confused at her confident tone, “Most people might say that being fired from a job could cause someone to be hostile. You don’t think he was the one who came in?” he questioned.

“He couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was arrested.”

          John’s eyebrows raised at the unexpected response. “What for?” he asked. Angela shrugged her shoulders, “Apparently for killing his fiancé. I don’t know if it’s true, we aren’t in contact with anyone in relation to his case, nor any personal affiliations. He just came to work one day, half-drunk and devastated. The next thing we knew, the cops came and arrested him. They must’ve found evidence against him.”

“Could someone have taken his key?” a deep baritone voice appeared next to John, making him jump a little. He didn’t know how long his flatmate was standing there. Sherlock ignored him and focused on Angela.

“No, we had him relieve his keys. All were accounted for and we have them locked in the supply closet. The one with the-“ she swallowed nervously, “…blood.”

          Sherlock turned away without further word and walked to the back to look at the closet once again. John thanked Angela for the information and left to follow the detective to the back. Sherlock was already inside the closet when John got to him. He was stepping around the mop and bucket to look inside a metal case mounted on the back wall. However, when he pulled the handle to open it, it didn’t budge. Locked. “We need to open this, get her keys or bring her over here.” He told John. The doctor nodded then went to find Angela again.

          She wasn’t comfortable with handing over her keys, so she followed John to the closet. Sherlock stepped aside to make room for her as she came in, obviously trying not to look at the bloody mop, and unlocked the case for him. She stepped out and turned her face away from the scene, seeming sickened by the blood, but stayed close to wait for Sherlock to finish his inspection.

          Sherlock opened the case and looked inside. Five different sets of keys hung on small hooks inside. No labels marked them but two sets had more keys than the others. “Which ones had Ryan been assigned to?” Sherlock waiting for Ms. Hughes’s confirmation. She came over again, to answer him, grabbing one of the sets to show him. “These ones…are…” her eyes suddenly bulged and her color drained. She stared closer at the keys in her hands. “Ms. Hughes?” John stepped towards her, lifting a hand to her shoulder. “Tho- these-aren’t-” She stuttered, “The keys. These aren’t ours.”

**********

          John guided Angela to her tiny office on the other side of the back room and sat her down in a chair to calm her on coming anxiety attack. Sherlock on the other hand was speaking to Greg about his deductions and the new information about the ex-employee, while forensics finally arrived and went about collecting evidence. Including the decoy set of keys in the metal case.

          Angela sat with her elbows on her knees and hands in her hair. “I just don’t understand all of this. Why? None of it makes sense to me. Keys taken but no jewelry taken, cases smashed, blood! Was someone hurt? Oh god, was someone killed?!” she began to hyperventilate and placed her hand on her chest as if to slow down her heart rate. John, in the other chair across from her, grabbed her by her shoulder, “Angela, breathe.” and guided her in some breathing exercises. After a few minutes, Angela slightly calmed, but was still very distressed, “I thought I had secured everything correctly. I always have. I…I remember seeing the keys in there when I locked it up. How did I not notice?”

“It’s an easy mistake. I mean you weren’t looking for a fake set of keys. And they look similar to the others. It’s not your fault.” John tried to console her self-criticism.

“But how…when did they get there? No one had any use for those keys in weeks. And the only times I had opened that case was to give my sales associates their keys for their shifts. But I always lock it before I walk away.”

“Was there any opportunity, at any time, that someone could have gotten into it?”

          Angela shook her head.

“Did you give anyone your keys to use?” John continued to question.

          Angela shook her head again.

“How about anyone who helped you with closing procedures yesterday?”

          Angela shook her head, then paused. “Well…” she began, “Both of my associates did assist me. Everyone always has their closing tasks at the end of the day. Double checking cases, making sure they’re locked. Putting away anything left out. And yesterday I did have both help me put away a new shipment of supplies in the closet.”

“Were you with them the entire time? Or did you, at any point, leave them alone?”

          Angela thought to herself, her eyes shifting a bit as she replayed the previous evening. After a moment or two, she shook her head. “I didn’t leave either of them alone but…I did turn my back. I heard them still doing what they were supposed to do, so I didn’t think anything out of the ordinary.” Angela took another pause and thought some more. John patiently waited for her to continue. “There was when I opened the case to let them put in their keys and I turned away for a second to pick up something that fell. But it was one second!”

“A lot could happen in a second.” John commented, “Is there a camera in the closet or one looking into it that could have possibly have caught it?”

          Angela shook her head once again, “No, the nearest camera doesn’t see into the closet, just whoever goes in or out. And even if it did, we still have footage missing from last night. Meaning that if it was them, then they would have gotten rid of it too. But I don’t know how they would have gotten into the system to turn off the cameras or delete footage. Everything is password protected.” She sighed and dropped her face into her hands, “I really hope it wasn’t them. Beck is a sweetheart, wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone do something like this. And Mitchell is one of my best, has brilliant sales numbers and abides by every rule in house. They couldn’t have done this, they just aren’t the types to do this, I mean what would have been their motive? We’ve had no issues with them.”

“Do you have their information? We’re going to have to contact them.” Angela nodded and got up from her seat to go through a file cabinet behind her. Through the open door, John saw Sherlock in the corner of his eye, coming over to the office. His face still in focus mode. The doctor stood from his seat and watched the detective approach and enter the room. “Anything?” he whispered to Sherlock. “Yes.” Sherlock responded. John raised an eyebrow expectantly but was not provided with anything more.

          Angela handed over two papers to John, “These are the contact information pages of Beck Young’s and Mitchell Shaw’s employment files.”

“Thank you.” John looked over the information with Sherlock leaning closer to him to read the info as well.

“Mr. Holmes, have you had any progress on what happened here?” Angela turned her attention to the taller man. Her hands wringing.

“Yes, in fact I had multiple theories when I arrived and now have narrowed it down to one.” Sherlock smiled his fake smile at her.

John’s head whipped up from the papers and Angela froze, her mouth bobbing like a fish. They stared at him. “Well?” Angela finally asked, “Wha…?”

“First,” Sherlock pointed to the papers in John’s hands, “We’ll have to question these two before I can really say for sure, but going by the state of your floors, I’m fairly confident my theory is completely correct. Not to worry Ms. Hughes, your job is saved. No need to make unemployment plans on your part. At least, not for yourself.” Sherlock faced John, “I’m ready when you are.”

John looked at the man, mouth parted “But-“

“We need to stop by to see Mr. Young and Mr. Shaw. Lestrade has already told me about the other two who literally have no knowledge as to what happened, they’re useless. Let’s go now.” Sherlock turned to leave but was stopped.

“Wait! Mr. Holmes, please! What do you know?” Angela pleaded, her eyes like saucers.

Sherlock huffed a breath impatiently, but John knew it wasn’t as genuine as it seemed, Sherlock loves to explain his theories. “I suppose you think this could possibly be a conspired plot between your two employees. That the two worked together to steal your keys, break into the store and commit a crime? Possibly hurting one or the other in the process OR hurting someone else, a witness perhaps?”

Angela nodded at him, “It sounds probable to me. Dr. Watson and I-“

“Probable, yes but it isn’t what happened. Did you see any more blood anywhere else in the store?” Sherlock watched as Angela thought to herself.

“No.” she responded, “Nowhere else.”

“Interesting, don’t you think? That amount of blood is contained in the bucket and yet nowhere else. Not so much as a drop.” Sherlock said with a pop, “If someone was hurt severely, no one could prevent spilling that much blood. It would have gushed. And there are no mop streaks any where on your floors or blood stains in between the tiles, or even glass in the bucket.”

          John shifted on his feet, “So, what are you saying? The blood was mopped up from somewhere else and the bucket brought here or that the blood was just poured in there?”

          Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, “Yes. I place my bets on ‘poured’ but let’s go meet Young and Shaw to find out.” He smirked, taking the papers from John’s hands then quickly walked out of the small office to entrance of the store, with John and Angela following behind him. “This whole thing was staged but it’s not a conspiracy. We’ll be in touch, Ms. Hughes. John hail us a cab, I’ll be there in just a second.” John stepped out onto the pavement, followed by Angela, while Sherlock spoke to Greg again, who was standing at the door.

“So, he does think it was them?” Angela asked as John raised his arm to wave for an oncoming cab.

“I guess. I’m just as confused as you are, honestly. Can never get just a straight answer out if him.” John responded. The cab pulled over to the curb and he reached for the handle but didn’t pull as he looked back at Angela. “But he’s brilliant at this, so I’m sure we’ll have this solved in no time.” He added lightly with a smile. Angela flashed a polite closed mouth smile, worry and stress still tensing up her posture.

“Thank you.” She said meekly, “I appreciate your help. Especially yours, Dr. Watson. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help and call me John, please.”

“John…” she said softly.

          John paused at the way she said his name. A little too soft, almost like the way you’d say a lover’s name. And the way she was looking at him now, as if hoping for him to say something, made him feel unsure if he should say anything. There hadn’t been a moment before when she exhibited any signs of attraction towards him but now he wonders if he’s missed something. Or maybe if, right now, he was just simply reading too much into it. Today has been filled with so much confusion and mixed signals. He doesn’t know what to think anymore, or even if he is able to trust his instincts. Either way, there was now an awkward silence and he was getting a vibe from her that just made him feel uncertain with himself.

          Thankfully, Sherlock exited the store and met John at the cab, all while eyeing Angela with a bit of suspicion and quickly deducing the situation. John opened the door for him and followed him inside, saying his goodbye to Angela, a bit relieved to be leaving. Sherlock read out Beck Young’s address to the cabbie, “We’ll start with him.” Sherlock handed over the info papers back to John and started texting someone on his phone, “Search their names on any social media platform on your phone. See if you see anything that stands out.”

John sighed silently, _he's literally already on his phone and can't be bothered to do it himself...git..._

The doctor bites down a fond smile.


	3. The New Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This last minute case is starting to get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizes for the inconsistent updates on this fic. I am juggling new work schedules and other crazy life stuff. This chapter has not been beta-ed. My beta is also starting a new job and has a very full schedule but will be reviewing things for me when they can. In the meantime, please excuse any errors you may find, if you have any helpful tips on anything you may see, please let me know. Additionally, I hope you are enjoy it so far and continue to enjoy it! <3

          The drive to Beck’s was estimated to be 15-20 minutes so Sherlock finished his text and took a second to review everything in his mind palace while John searched the web on his phone. After a few minutes, John spoke, breaking him out of his thoughts, “I found them on Facebook. Normal profiles. Pictures of themselves with friends, parties, on holiday. Usual stuff. No odd posts. Nothing stands out.” John continued to casually scroll through one of the profiles. “Am I supposed to look for something specific?” he asked.

“What does the About section say on their profiles?” Sherlock checked his phone, feeling it buzz with a new reply.

“Umm…” John tapped at his phone and scrolled some more, “…they both have info of their birthdays, schools they went to, the city they live in and where they work. They both left out contact info, apart from email. Other than that, they don’t have much else.” John looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to finish texting whoever it was that messaged him. Sherlock smirked to himself as he pocketed his phone into the top inside of his coat.

“What?” John recognizes that smirk, “What is it?”

“We were called to investigate an apparent break in. There was damage, but nothing stolen except keys which were replaced with decoys to avoid suspicion. But why break in, disable cameras, smash glass, steal nothing, and then place blood into a bucket? This person had the very opportunity to walk away with thousands of pounds worth of jewels and yet walked away with nothing. What does that say?” Sherlock looks at John.

“Um, they didn’t want jewelry? Just faking a crime? Insurance fraud, like I said?” John suggested.

“If you were staging a robbery, wouldn’t you at least take or hide a couple things to claim it stolen? Therefore, receiving insurance money for them?”

“Well yea I mean-“

“Exactly. It isn’t to collect insurance. This entire thing has a different point.” Sherlock looked out the window, quickly calculating their updated ETA.

“What makes you so sure this isn’t for the insurance money?” John questioned his flatmate, “It makes more sense to me that its insurance fraud.”

“People like to elaborate when they lie. They try to cover every little detail in order to make it seem that they are innocent. But no one should naturally know that much, dead giveaway. Those that were questioned today, only knew their side of the story and nothing else.  Their confusion and ignorance were genuine. And the crime scene itself was inconsistent in its lie. The blood was the biggest clue. Someone was in a hurry. But with the alarm and cameras disabled, why? They had all night yet left the scene half-arsed. Committing a crime with no criminal intent? Blackmailed.”

“How could you possibly know it was blackmail?” John leaned toward Sherlock.

“Anxiety and nervousness can make you do things in a hurry. Making you forget details. But a true criminal would never look over gaining fortune, even when anxious.”

“Angela was nervous. Highly anxious.” John accused.

“I thought you liked Ms. Hughes?” Sherlocked retorted, rolling his eyes.

          Once again, John is caught off guard. He did like Angela. Had thought she was beautiful. A nice person, going by his first impression but could only judge so much under the circumstances. He wasn’t there looking for friend or a date. And honestly, he’s met way nicer people that he thought were innocent but were just amazing actors. Super kind people that turned out to be serious criminals. So, he’s learned to not always trust everyone. Not everyone is who they seem to be. So why should Angela be an exception to that? He still treated her the same as anyone else, but it didn’t stop him from seeing her as a potential suspect.

          John looked away from Sherlock and out his own window, watching the streets pass by, “That has nothing to do with anything. She’s capable of doing all that. The store owner is out of town, Angela gave both Beck and Mitchell the day off today, she’s the only one there that knows the passwords into the security system and is the only one who can unlock the closet and the case for the other keys. And she practically had an anxiety attack while we were there, making her the most obvious person there by your description. What is that you saw that disproves it?”

          Sherlock stared at the doctor’s profile and silently thought back to the notebook he found in the drawer. “Relationships.” He said gently. John broke his gaze from the window and looked at his flatmate very curiously. But seeing Sherlock’s, unexpected soft expression, John’s soften too. They stared at each other. John caught by those mixed blue/green eyes with just a hint of gold. Eyes that were never a solid color. And there was that freckle over his right pupil that he always found fascinating. He can already feel his heart rate picking up. But not wanting to find himself in whatever this is again, he breaks eye contact, and looks at nothing. “What do you mean?” he clears his throat, trying not to freak out. His thoughts already wanting to race in crisis. _Get it together John. You’re being…weird…_

          Sherlock ran his eyes over John’s form and deduced to himself that John was suddenly uncomfortable. “I found a notebook in a drawer at the shop. It was purposely hidden under a rag and some other junk. When I looked inside, there were written conversations inside between two employees. Flirtatious conversations. If my deductions are correct, I believe it belongs to Beck and Mitchel. They’re hiding their relationship.”

John returned his gaze to Sherlock, still as ever confused, “They’re together? What does that have to do with the case?”

“Secrets, John. Secrets are powerful things. And in that notebook, they had another secret. We’re going to find out what it is.”

“Wha-? That’s it? You just said that they are hiding their relationship, isn’t that the secret?” John turned a little in his seat to face Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed, “They argued in that notebook, but not about their relationship. They both are determined to keep their relationship to themselves. I had you check their social media which continues to prove it. They don’t appear in photos together, not even as friends. And they both deliberately excluded the _Interested In: Male or female_ in their bio, they would rather avoid the topic than lie. Using the notebook shows that they are not having romantic conversations over the phone, so they communicate at work. They are accepting of their current situation for the time being, so they did not argue over it. They argued over something else. Someone else rather, another person. But there were no signs of jealousy. In fact, there were clear signs of concern. Deep concern. Not a simple lover’s quarrel. I suspect this new person has something to do with the store. Someone who perhaps tasked them into performing the crime or else expose their relationship.”

“But if it wasn’t to steal, then what was the _point?_ ” John exclaimed, throwing his hands up, “Revenge? A bitter customer who didn’t like their service? Someone who just hated the store? Someone trying to frame…” John trailed off, his eyes slowly grew wider, suddenly thinking back on the Wilson’s case, “Sherlock, could this be connected to-“

          “Here we are, gents!” their cabbie announced their arrival and came to a full stop in front of some moderately nice flats. Sherlock paid the cabbie and exited the car, with John following him onto the pavement. It wasn’t in a bad neighborhood, but it wasn’t the grandest either. Just nice enough to be affordable. “I know what you’re thinking, and we’ll have the answer soon, John.” They strode up to the building and located Beck’s flat. Raising his fist, Sherlock knocked firmly on the door marked 34A. They wait but no one answers.  John takes a turn at knocking but still no answer. “Stay here.” Sherlock tells him as he walks away and around a corner to find a back window to peer into.

          John knocks harder on the door in a last hopeful attempt before Sherlock makes him break into the flat, which he suspects is going to happen in just a second. He notices a couple neighboring tenants peering through their windows to investigate who is disturbing their peace. Then all attention is set on sudden yelling from behind the building. He rounds the corner to the back where Sherlock was and finds his flatmate being yelled at by a man with a scruffy beard, smoking a cig with his head out the window from the flat above. “I will call the police if you don’t piss off!” the man yelled.

“Oh please, you avoid the law like you avoid your ex-wife! You never call the police!” Sherlock had one foot in Beck’s window and both hands on the sill, keeping himself balanced.

“Oi! Shut it, you don’t know shit about me!” the man pointed his lit cigarette at Sherlock, “Bugger off before I come down there and shove my foot up your arse!”

“Hey hey hey!” John walked closer and raised his hands up, “It’s okay, we work with the police, we’re just looking for Beck Young.” John grabbed the back of Sherlock’s coat and pulled back, forcing him to bring his leg out the window. “Do you know where he is?” he asked the stranger.

          The man eyed John suspiciously, “You don’t look like coppers.” He took a drag of his cig, “What the hell do you want with him?”

          Sherlock straighten himself up, “We need to talk to him. Tell us where he went.”

“I don’t know shit. And even if I did, wouldn’t tell you!” the man leaned further out the window to emphasize his statement.

          John put a hand in front of Sherlock to cut him off from responding, “Look he could be in serious trouble and we want to help. We just want to talk to him to make sure he’s okay.”

          John and Sherlock stared up at the man, waiting for a reply. The man scratched his bearded chin, then took another drag of his cig. He kept silent. Sherlock became impatient, “Well then, I’ll just continue with this shall I?” Sherlock began to climb in the window again but was stopped by John’s grip in his coat again. “John!” he grunted, trying to force himself through.

“Sherlock, wait!” John pulled him back out again, making him stumble back onto his feet. Ignoring Sherlock’s annoyed mumbling, John looked up at the smoking stranger again, “Look, if you won’t help us then we can just call Scotland Yard to come search his flat. We won’t have to break in and then if they find anything else to investigate…” John pointedly looked at the cig in the man’s hand, “then they can take care of it.”

The stranger squinted his eyes at him, not saying a word.

“You’re an idiot if you think we can’t smell that.” John pointed out, “That isn’t nicotine you’re smoking.”

          The man quickly snuffed out the blunt and sneered at John, “He went to his fucking friend’s house. Don’t know who, all he said was that he was visiting him. Now, piss off!” he leaned back inside his own flat and slammed the window shut.

Sherlock smirked at John, “Well played.”

“So, he’s at Mitchell’s, should we go then?” John began to turn away.

“In a minute.” Sherlock quickly climbed back onto the windowsill and into Beck’s flat before John could pull him out again.

“Sherlock!” John hissed, he looked around to check if any other neighbors were watching them. He waited only a minute when Sherlock climbed back out.

“Alright let’s go.” Sherlock landed on his feet gracefully and walked away, empty handed, without checking if John was following.

          John rolled his eyes and closed the window, since his flatmate didn’t seem to care to do it himself. When he was sure it was secure, he caught up with Sherlock who already had a cab stopped for them and was holding the door open for him. He gave a quick thanks and got in. Sherlock followed inside, reading out Mitchell’s address then immediately entered his mind palace as he settled in his seat. Leaving John to his own thoughts.

**********

          The quiet cab ride came to a stop in front of a beautiful house, after pulling into a neighborhood that looked to be homes for the moderately wealthy. Higher class but not the mansion types. Luscious green lawns and well-kept gardens. Clean roads and peaceful atmosphere. A lot more expensive from where Beck lived. No smoking neighbors yelling out their windows.

          They exited the cab and approached the front door of Mitchell’s home. From the vehicles in the driveway and lamp light in the house, it was obvious that the residents were home. Sherlock used the brass knocker on the door and waited, John beside him with his hands clasped behind his back.

An older gentleman with greying hair and glasses answered the door, immediately looking distressed, “Yes?”

“The elder Mr. Shaw, I presume. I am Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. This is Doctor John Watson. We’re here to-“

“I wasn’t aware you were called.” The gentleman interrupted, “The police said that we had to wait 24 hours. I didn’t think they would send over a detective.”

“I’m sorry, we weren’t called.” John stepped forward, “We’re looking for Mitchell Shaw and Beck Young, are you-?”

“I’m Mitchell’s father. But if you weren’t called then, how did you know to come?” the man looked back and forth between them.

“There’s been an incident at the Jewelry store your son is employed at. We need to ask him and Beck a few questions. Beck Young is here, isn’t he?” Sherlock questioned.

“I’m sorry, so you’re not here for my son’s disappearance?”

They all paused. John’s mouth bobbed slightly, not having expected that. This was starting to become a bigger case than he first thought.

 “Disappearance?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. We just tried to report him missing but we were told that-“

“May we come inside?” Sherlock cut him off, becoming more hyper by the second. John recognized the vibrating energy coming from him. This new development, triggered Sherlock’s game face. Before the older man could respond, Sherlock squeezed by him and entered the house. John briefly apologized and followed him inside.

          The décor continued the beauty of the place. Clearly this family was well off, if the area wasn’t already something to go by. They passed an elegant sitting room, that looked dedicated to visitors only and a gorgeous kitchen that was spotless, like out of a catalog. Sherlock followed murmuring voices to a room down the hall at the end, that looked to be a home library with a couple of lounge sofas in the center that faced each other with a coffee table in between them. An older woman, Mrs. Shaw by deduction, was sat in one of the sofas with her hand on her forehead and a younger woman sitting next to her, holding her other hand. A young man around his early 20’s with short curly brown hair, sat across from them, with his hands wringing in his lap and one leg bouncing up and down.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Sherlock said, not actually sorry. He beelined for the younger man, ignoring Mrs. Shaw’s ‘ _Who are you?_ ’. “Beck Young?” he asked him. The younger man froze at Sherlock’s bold presence.

“Y-yes?” Beck answered, meekly.

“Sherlock Holmes. A break in has occurred at Maddison’s Jewelers last night and we require your cooperation in answering a few questions.”

“A break in?” the younger woman pipped up. Beck’s mouth hung open and he looked at everyone else as if pleading for help.

John stood politely at distance from behind Sherlock as Mr. Shaw entered the room and walked over to his wife, “I thought the police sent over a detective but something else is going on.” He said to her.

“Mr. Young, you worked last night, with Mitchell. Can you recall any suspicious behavior from him? Anything that may indicate intention to commit a crime?” Sherlock proceeded.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Shaw sat up straight, “Is my son a suspect?”

“Yes, he is.” Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes fixed on Beck, “In fact, we found a fair amount of evidence that points to young Mr. Shaw being responsible for the break in and the theft of thousands of pounds worth of jewelry.” John’s brows pinched at Sherlock’s fib. Obviously knowing the truth. Although he’s seen him do this before, exaggerate or lie all together to get a reaction out of someone. But it’s still unexpected when he does it. Thankfully he catches on after a second and relaxes his facial expression back to neutral.

 “Mitchell Shaw could be sentenced to prison for _decades_.” Sherlock continued, giving Beck a hard stare. Beck’s eyes grew wide, his adam’s apple bobbed and his forehead began to sweat.

“No!” the younger woman stood, “He couldn’t’ve done it! My brother would never!” she protested.

“Katherine.” Mr. Shaw lifted a hand in her direction as if to calm her, then approached Sherlock, “Mr. Holmes, please. My son is a very smart and kind boy. I bet on my life, he is not responsible for what you claim he has apparently done. We are confused and very terrified. Please, explain.”

          The room became silent. The young woman, now identified as Katherine, stared angrily at the back of Sherlock’s head. Mrs. Shaw had a fist clenched on the front collar of her blouse with a worried look on her face. Mr. Shaw and John stood by the detective, waiting for his response. Sherlock inhaled, “First, I need to speak with Mr. Young privately. It is critical I speak with him now in order to finding your son. Any moment longer can potentially cost your son’s life.”

          Mr. Shaw nodded and quickly directed his wife and daughter to exit the room. They didn’t want to leave, making their displeasure known loudly but he murmured to them to reassure them that things were going to be okay. Even if he wasn’t convinced himself.

          John stepped closer to Sherlock and Beck, who were still having an odd stare off. Sherlock being intimidating and Beck looking as if he was about to wet his pants. When the door clicked shut, Sherlock began his questions.

“What happened last night?” he started.

          Beck eyes watered and kept swallowing nervously. John sensed he would fall apart any second and couldn’t stand seeing him look like a shaking dog. So, he stepped in, “It’s okay, Beck. We’re here to help. We just need you to tell us what happened, so we can find Mitchell.”

“And once we do find him, he’ll be arrested.” Sherlock chimed in, defeating John’s attempt to comfort the young man. John hissed at him, barely holding himself back from smacking him. He understood why Sherlock was doing this, but he still didn’t like it. However, he had to admit that it worked because Beck inhaled suddenly and finally spoke.

“He didn’t do anything! It wasn’t him!” he said frantically.

“Well I found evidence that points to him, Mr. Young. And his disappearance seems to be convenient don’t you think? Perhaps running off with all those stolen jewels.” Sherlock persisted.

“But nothing was taken!” Beck yelled.

          Sherlock smirked at the nervous man. He succeeded in reaching his goal.

“Interesting.” Sherlock crossed his arms, “How did you know?”

          Beck caught on to his mistake and dropped his face to his chest, no longer able to hold back his tears. “Fuck…” he whispered to himself. He brought his hands up to his head and grabbed two fistfuls of his curly hair.

“Beck.” Sherlock continued sternly, “I need you to tell me exactly what happened. To find where Mitchell is, I need you to tell me.”

          Beck continued to quietly cry, sniffling back tears and snot. Sherlock rolled his eyes with impatience, not always the best person to deal with the anxious, emotional or the terrified. He was great at inflicting negative emotions in people but never really at consoling them. John had always tried to help with that but once the detective became impatient, he learned his efforts were usually useless.

          Sherlock sighed and sat on the coffee table across from Beck, “You were blackmailed.” He stated, “Someone used you and Mitchell to get into the store by threatening expose the nature of your relationship. You didn’t believe the threat at first, but something changed. Something else was said or done to convince you that you needed to break into the shop and fulfil the demands you were given. This person not only threatened to expose your relationship but threatened Mitchell’s life as well. So, you broke in. But something went wrong, Mitchell is now missing. It seems this person thinks you didn’t keep your end of the deal.”

“He wanted me to steal.” Beck started, looking up at Sherlock, “But I just couldn’t. It was bad enough that I took the keys and broke those cases, so I thought maybe I could give him some cheap jewelry from somewhere else to make him think I actually stole. But he figured it out, don’t know why I didn’t think he’d be able to tell the difference.”

“He?” John asked.

Beck nodded, “He emailed me at first, that’s why I thought it was spam. But then he started texting me. I don’t how he got my number, but it wasn’t until he sent me a picture of Mitchell in his room from the outside, that I finally responded. The guy called me with what he wanted. When I heard his voice, I knew it was real and I was just so scared, I did what he asked. He told me everything I needed to do. How to quickly switch out the keys, how to get into the security system to turn off the alarm and the cameras. He said he was going to take care of any other CCTV cameras, but I don’t know if that was true. And then he left a bag of blood hidden by the entrance for me to take inside and spread around. But I don’t do good with blood. So, I thought maybe if I just make it look like it was cleaned up, I could pour it in the mop bucket and not have to splash it everywhere.” He paused to wipe his nose, “I went in at 3am and when I was finished, I dropped off the fake jewelry in a hiding place outside that he told me about. And when I got home after, he called me saying I had failed. And then sent me this.” His face broke again to cry but he managed to pull out his phone to show Sherlock and John a picture of Mitchell bound and gagged against some wood pallets on a dirty cemented floor. Sherlock took the phone from his hands and analyzed the photo.

“I didn’t know what to do.” Beck continued, “I knew I should’ve called the police when I first got those messages, but everything happened so quickly and went so far, I thought it was too late. And now everything has gone to shit and Mitchell-” he choked up. John couldn’t take it anymore and sat next to the young man as he sobbed, placing a hand on his upper back. He told himself he wouldn’t always trust tears, but this kid was getting to him for some reason. Every instinct in his body was telling him to go and comfort the young man. “Have you shown that picture to his family?” John asked. Beck shook his head, still crying.

          When Beck finally got control back, he lifted his face to look at John, “I didn’t know how to tell them the truth. I lied and told them that I came by to pick up Mitchell for work, like I have before, but that he wasn’t answering my calls or texts. And that’s when it escalated. I know I should’ve just told the truth.” His voice broke, “It’s all my fault. I kept everything a secret. I was the one who didn’t want anyone to know about us. I planned everything and made rules. And he went with it. With everything! God, none of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t…!” he dropped his face into his hands and cried more. John’s heart broke for Beck. He’s seen how hiding one’s sexuality could affect someone.

          That’s how Harry started drinking. They were both raised to be good Catholic children and so Harry kept it a secret, but it ate her up inside and one night stole their father’s beer to try and drown her feelings. By the time she accepted her sexuality and started dating, she was already stuck on all kinds of booze. When she married Clara, she had vowed to get sober but couldn’t stay clean for more than a couple weeks. That’s when the constant fighting began, and Harry decided she’d rather lose the marriage than lose the bottle. They don’t talk much anymore because of that. But he hopes that Beck will at least be able to accept himself before falling into any self-destructive habits. _You’re one to talk…_

          John mentally shook himself and looked to Sherlock, “Sherlock, did you see anyth-?” before he could finish his question, his flatmate sprang up from the coffee table and went straight for the door. “I know where this is! John let’s go! Now!” he yelled over his shoulder, whipping the door open, running into the Shaw family waiting on the other side. He slipped passed them, ignoring their rapid questions, as John followed behind. He apologized for him as always and answered vaguely that they may know where Mitchell is and are going there now.

          Sherlock shouted for a cab and called Lestrade on his phone, quickly telling him the details of the abduction and to meet them at the location they were headed to. John caught up with Sherlock and jumped into the cab with him, leaving behind a worried family and secret boyfriend at the front door of the house. The cabbie took off as soon as Sherlock gave her the address and promised her a huge tip if she got them there in less than 10 minutes.

She sped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This current case is growing to be bigger than just a side story, but will be worth it I promise! Main plot of the fic will be starting soon! Please bear with me! Thank you! <3


	4. Dead Ends and Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going so well with the whole solving thing. And Mrs. Wilson's murder mystery dinner is getting closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still with me on this fic, sorry for long waits in between chapters. Still getting used to balancing my time with work, chores, errands, and writing. It's all a bit, crazy haha. This chapter is not beta-ed. My beta is equally busy and I don't want to overwhelm them, so they will catch up with me when they can. But I tried my best to catch any errors, if you see any and would like to let me know, please tell me kindly! Thank you! :) Please, enjoy!

They didn’t find Mitchell.

          Sherlock had deduced from the photo that the young man was being held in a warehouse that was used to ship out dry goods. But when they arrived, the workers had already started their daily shifts, and no one reported to have seen any unauthorized suspicious persons or kidnapped victims. Sherlock, of course, just barged in and insisted on beginning a search through the warehouse anyway but was met with resistance from management, _“Who the hell are you?”_ Thankfully, Lestrade arrived on time to defuse the growing argument between Sherlock and the foreman by explaining who they were and what was going on. The foreman, a tall woman with red hair, reluctantly agreed to let them through and cooperated a lot easier when Lestrade started his questions while John, Sherlock and a couple of the DI’s officers searched the building for Mitchell.

          The foreman confirmed to Greg that no one suspicious was seen at the warehouse nor anyone of Mitchell’s description being held against his will. “The only thing that’s unusual,” she began, “is that one of our lorries is missin’, but another one that don’t belong to us is docked in its place.”

“Do you know where the other one came from or who it belongs to?” the DI asked.

“No idea. Haven’t seen it before. I’ve been callin’ some of my other drivers but no one knows shit and I tried callin’ the foreman on duty for yesterday but doesn’t answer. I didn’t think it was somethin’ worth callin’ the police over so I just left it for now til’ I get a response from someone and figure out what to do. But since you’re here, maybe it might be somethin’ you should look at.”

          Lestrade called over Sherlock and John, who had no success in their search anyway, and followed the foreman outside to view the lorry from the front. It was unimpressive, a plain white lorry, no logo or brand. John discovered the doors had been left unlocked and had climbed inside but found nothing to help identify its ownership. “What’s inside the shipping container?” Sherlock asked.

         The foreman led the men back into the warehouse and over to the gate where the unidentified lorry was docked. She lifted the container gate open and extended her hand out to it. Empty. “Nothin” she stated the obvious. Both Lestrade and John sighed, ready to write this off as unrelated to their case but when Sherlock stepped in, they could both see that something had caught his eye. At the very back of the long container, at the very bottom, concealed by low lighting, was Mitchell’s work name tag. It was just sitting by its self with ‘Mitchell Shaw’ facing out. It was obviously positioned, on display. A clear confirmation that Mitchell was taken in this lorry.

         Sherlock reached to grab the tag, but his finger pressed into something bumpy stuck behind it. When he pulled away, he rubbed his finger and felt it was a little sticky. He sniffed the residue on his fingertips and although he did not recognize the scent, he already knew what it was before he even saw it. Old, chewed up, pink gum. He reached for the tag again, but this time lifted it from the corner and felt the gum detached from the container floor.

“What’s that?” John appeared at his side and already was wide eyed when he noticed the engraved name.

          In a flash, Sherlock contained the tag in a plastic container that he pulled from his coat and immediately turned to leave the area to get to an exit. Lestrade called after them in confusion but Sherlock was dead focus on getting a cab to Barts to test the gum. John just threw Lestrade an apologetic smile and followed his flatmate. “Keep investigating! Find the other lorry!” Sherlock shouted to the DI before pushing through a door and out the warehouse.

**********

          While John stopped at the hospital cafeteria for a cup of coffee, Sherlock tested the gum at the lab to figure out its ingredients. Of course, he already knew what all gum was made out of, he wasn’t an idiot. But when he sniffed his fingers, there was an unknown smell to the residue. And no, it wasn’t from saliva. It was as if the chewer only chewed the gum to soften it but did not consume the flavor, still leaving its intended scent and color behind. It was obviously not mint or spearmint. And not your typical fruity or classic bubble gum. It was almost like……perfume? Floral?

          The results came back relatively quick and much of it was what he expected. Though the one result he was looking for was not. He’s seen it before and knows what it its but hasn’t seen it in gum before. “Hm.” He usually sees it for oils, soaps, and other perfume-y products. But didn’t expect it in gum.

Rose.

Rose flavored gum.

          He searched online for the nearest places he could find that sold rose gum, and only found two shops 6-10 miles away that had some. He dropped his task and grabbed his coat from where he hung it and texted Lestrade that he was to travel to one shop location immediately while himself and John went to the other. He texted the details of his findings and that he expected the stolen lorry and Mitchell to be at one of those locations. He reached for the door just as poor John walked in with two fists full of coffee, “Hey did you-?” Sherlock turned the man back around and led him back out, making him yelp when just a little bit of the hot liquid spilled out the lid and burned his hand, “Oi! It’s hot!” John exclaimed.

“Don’t fill them to the brim next time. Come on, we can’t lose more time!”

          When they arrived at one of the shops, there was no lorry and no Mitchell. Greg called Sherlock and reported that nothing was found at the other shop either. They then decided to question the shop owners about where they received their shipments from. But both men received different answers. Different suppliers. Neither shop had any relation to their case, at least not an obvious one and this time it was really upsetting Sherlock. “There HAS to be a connection! That gum is not common! It has to come from somewhere and where ever it is, Mitchell is being kept there!” he rubbed his face in frustration.

**********

          Going between Baker street and Scotland Yard, they continued the case for a couple more days, fueled by more crappy coffee, donuts, take out and crashing on sofas and Greg’s office chairs. Lestrade had men out searching for Mitchell and the missing lorry and Sherlock had his homeless network looking as well. Meanwhile, Sherlock had to reveal Beck’s role in all this, and the DI had no choice but to take the young man into custody for being the one to physically carry out the store break in. However, Sherlock did explain that Mr. Young was also a victim and not a criminal and that he was determined to prove his innocence by finding the perpetrator and getting Mr. Shaw back alive.

          He kept Beck’s phone in case the blackmailer got in contact again but received nothing. Sherlock analyzed Beck’s older emails, texts and calls, tracing the sender’s locations, which called for a little help from big brother much to his annoyance, but it looked as if the man had messaged and called from random places. Nothing consistent and nothing that coincided with the case. They even visited other warehouses and contacted companies who sold Rose gum but that only complicated things more.

          Sherlock sat in his chair at home with his laptop on his knees, searching once again for sellers around the city who sold special gum. “They could be keeping him anywhere, Sherlock” John started, sitting across from him on his own laptop, “I mean if you say that a piece of chewed gum has a connection to it, then there are a million places he could be.”

“I told you. Rose gum isn’t sold just anywhere, most you could only get online! And those come from out of the country! So, unless we branch out to the REST of the world, we need to be looking where they sell Rose gum _here_.”

“And we already checked _here_. So, if he isn’t _here_ then he could be _anywhere_.”

“You doubt me.”

“What?” John furrowed his brow at the sudden change in conversation.

“You think that I’m thinking too much into this. That I think the gum is the key to finding Mitchell but that in reality, it’s just a piece of rubbish that happened to get stuck behind the tag because so many people in this world are disgusting and too lazy to throw their gum into a bin. And now you think that I’m just chasing this imaginative idea that some how the specific flavor of this gum will lead us to a kidnapped man but will inevitably fail because it is all just a coincidence.”

          John stayed silent. He only admitted to himself that it did seem farfetched, but he didn’t doubt Sherlock. He felt a little hurt, though, that Sherlock started to accuse him of loosing faith in his friend. It’s true that he’s been confused before and even questioned Sherlock’s deductions, but he’s never doubted his friend on his ability to solve his cases. The man was a genius. Brilliant. And he felt lucky that the man hadn’t gotten bored of him yet.

“No.” John said sternly and looked at Sherlock in his eyes, “I don’t doubt you. I may not be able to keep up with you, most of the time. But I’ve seen you solve cases with less. I don’t doubt you. I just think this is going to be harder than the others.”

Sherlock didn’t respond but the noticeable tension in his face began to soften.

“But if you think we need to dig deeper,” John continued, “then we dig deeper. So be it. We’ll search as many places as we can. Even if we must go further. Fine. But I do need to say…that I haven’t seen you this personally motivated before.”

“What do you mean? I’m always motivated with big cases like this.”

“There’s something different about this one, though. Like you’re personally connected to it.”

          Something changed in Sherlock’s eyes, a shift of some kind. An unsaid acknowledgement that Sherlock did in fact feel a little more determined to solve this one for a personal reason. But saying it out loud felt like…revealing a deep secret. He could only admit to himself that he felt some empathy for Beck and Mitchell. He did feel extra motivated to save them. But he did not want it to be known that he had that personal sentiment for them, and John was starting to notice. Ever the intuitive one. Still, he didn’t want John to figure it out.

“There isn’t anything different. If you see an increase in motivation, then I could only say that it is due to having no case for days. After finally receiving one, a challenging one at that, I have become only more focused and determined to solve this for the sake of catching a criminal. Nothing more.”

          He could tell John wasn’t convinced but thankfully he didn’t pursue the topic further. He just stared at Sherlock, calculating him, with his head resting on his fist. After some silence between them, John stood from his seat, set his laptop down and walked to the kitchen. He heard a phone buzz but ignored it, knowing it was probably Sherlock’s phone.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered as he replied to a text.

**********

          Everything came to a dead end. Officers on search found nothing. Homeless network found nothing. Sherlock and Lestrade found nothing. And as other cases started coming in, Lestrade was forced to pass the case onto another Detective Inspector who was more familiar in dealing with missing person cases. However, Sherlock was not welcomed by the other DI and threats of reporting an “amateur” detective leading investigations pressured Greg to insist Sherlock to drop the case completely. Which became quite the fight between the two of them. Sherlock was not ready to give up and stated that he was going to continue the case without Scotland Yard, but unfortunately lost to the DI after hard and true valid points were made.

          John did not sleep that night. Stomping feet, scratchy violin strings, random bangs and angry mumbling from the floor below his room, kept him up for hours until Sherlock finally locked himself in his own room. They were back to square one with Sherlock’s mood. And going to Mrs. Wilson’s dinner was only going to add to it. But now more than ever, John needed Sherlock to get out the house and be distracted.

          Now, a few days after the unsolved case, John was in his bedroom looking at himself in his full-length mirror as he adjusted his dress shirt collar and smoothed a fly away hair by his ear. He scanned his reflection and nodded at himself, pleased at the outfit he put together. He chose his best trousers, which were practically still new, and a navy-blue dress shirt that Sherlock insisted he get the last time John shopped for clothes. Something about it bringing out the color in his eyes.

He finished the outfit with a simple blazer and headed downstairs. It was the day of the murder mystery dinner and they had a car coming for them in about 15 minutes. Mrs. Wilson had graciously sent a text saying she would provide them with transportation as their home was about 30 minutes away from them. Sherlock had lamely made the excuse that the cab fee would be too expensive, but John immediately came back with ‘She’s sending a car and even if we had to pay a cab, price isn’t something you ever worry about Mr. Posh.’ His genius of a flatmate was still in a mood, but thankfully now transitioned more into a sulk rather than fury and monstrous.

          The man himself, was also getting ready in his own room but was taking his sweet time, trying to delay going out. John knocked on his door multiple times to check up on him but was met with some kind of excuse, ‘I’m combing my hair!’, ‘A button popped off my shirt, I need to pick out another!’, ‘I’ll be out in a second, have you seen my other scarf?’, ‘There’s dried blood on my shoe, I need to clean them! No, I don’t want to wear the other ones!’, ‘I can’t find my clean trousers! Go downstairs and see if Mrs. Hudson washed them!’

          Speaking of the older woman, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and ‘Woohoo’ed her entrance and upon seeing John standing in the kitchen drinking some water, all freshened up and dressed, she immediately commented, “Oh John! You’re looking more handsome than usual today! Ohh, and that shirt compliments you very well! A very nice color. Brings out your eyes.”

John chuckled politely at her, putting his glass down, “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, I’m not always handsome though. You should know already, you’ve seen me at breakfast multiple times before, still looking like a zombie.”

“Oh, come now!” she lightly slapped his arm, “You know you’re a handsome lad, John. Anyone can see! I mean with all the looks you get daily, it’s not hard to see that you are attractive.”

“All the looks I get daily?” John laughed, “When have you noticed people looking at me? The last time you and I went on an outing was on your birthday months ago.”

“Oh well I’m pretty sure you get plenty of stares in public, no doubt, but I wasn’t talking about them!” she giggled.

“Then who?” he questioned.

          Her eyes drifted to Sherlock’s room for a split second, as she considered on answering him but before she could, the doorbell rang, and she quickly made her excuse to get the door. John was left confused. But his interest was very much peaked, he would most definitely have to get back to her another time. Find out who’s been apparently eyeing him lately. Even though he had no clue as to who would be giving him looks. It’s not like he sees a lot of the same people every single day. Often, sure. Occasionally, yes. Sometimes, definitely. But not every day. The only people who see him daily are Mrs. H, Sherlock and…that’s it.

John’s eyes widen.

_…Wait…does she mean?_

          A second later, Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs that their driver had arrived and was parked out in front for them. John shook himself out of his thoughts and forced himself to push their quick conversation to the back of his mind. He remembered he made a commitment to attend this dinner and wasn’t about to break it for anything. Not even for overanalyzing Mrs. Hudson’s implications.

          He walked over to Sherlock’s bedroom door and knocked again, “Sherlock are you ready? Our ride is here, come on!” he was answered by a muffled reply that he couldn’t understand, “What?” another muffled reply, slightly louder but still not clear. “Come on, Sherlock! We have to go!”

Again, a muffled reply that he couldn’t understand. _He’s doing this on purpose._

          Ready or not, John put his foot down. After putting on his coat, he grabbed Sherlock’s coat and scarf from their hooks and strode back over to barge into Sherlock’s room, but the door was locked. With quick thinking though, John detoured into the restroom and went through the connecting door to Sherlock’s bedroom and barged in from there. He discovered Sherlock on his phone just lying on his stomach in bed, only half dressed, with his dress shirt not even buttoned and his shoes not even on. His head whipped up and looked at John in clear annoyance. Just as he was going to protest John’s intrusion, John threw Sherlock’s coat and scarf on him and grabbed Sherlock’s nice shoes from his wardrobe and set them down in front of him on the floor.

“You’re relentless!” Sherlock glared at John.

“Oh, I’ll show you relentless.”

          John finally dragged him out the flat and shoved him into the waiting car. The driver quietly began their journey as Sherlock loudly complained that John didn’t give him enough time to properly put on his clothes, causing him to walk out in loose tied shoes and the buttons on his dress shirt in the wrong holes. “Look at my shirt! I would have been able to do it correctly if you hadn’t man handled me! I would’ve been ready on time all the same!” John rolled his eyes at the obvious lie and stifled a giggle at the ridiculous sight of Sherlock with his shirt out of sorts, but instead his breath caught when he found himself suddenly witnessing Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt down to the last button, showing off his long torso. Creamy skin dotted with a few freckles, and fine hairs under his belly button that grew thicker and darker the lower it got. He blushed to himself, thinking about where that little happy trail led to.

          John tried to refocus his thoughts on something else as Sherlock fixed himself and started buttoning up his shirt the correct way. However, John’s intrusive imagination only got worse when Sherlock then suddenly unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and lifted his pelvis off the seat to tuck in his shirt. The surrounding world slowed down as John watched those hands dive into those perfectly fitted trousers, over and over again. Over each thigh, smoothing the fabric. Then rounding to his arse and caressing plush cheeks. Then back to his front, over his crotch, straightening shirt ends over his bulge, looking even bigger as Sherlock’s hand cupped himself and-

          John turned his red face to his window and willed his blood to return to where it came from when his body began sending it south. He swallowed and licked away his dry mouth, then discreetly adjusted himself. Watching someone tuck in their shirt has never been, and never should have been, that attractive. The man wasn’t even doing it differently from normal. But sometimes Sherlock has the talent to make ordinary, mundane things look amazing. Just never sexy. At least John never noticed, why would he? John has never found men sexually attractive. Not in school, not in the army, not at work, not anywhere, NEVER! Not once…ever…

nope…

…

_Fuck...oh god…who am I kidding?_

          John managed to calm himself before he looked over at Sherlock again. The man was still primping himself but was done with his shirt and trousers, now he was just working on fixing his shoes. He prayed to whatever god was out there that Sherlock did not notice anything on John’s face or body language that indicated how he was just affected a second ago and that he was now basically on the brink of a serious sexuality crisis.

          Ever since meeting Sherlock, many people had made assumptions on what their relationship was. Some tried to kindly ask if they were together and others just bluntly stated their belief that they were boyfriends. John, of course, had always responded the same way. ‘I’m not gay.’ The phrase had been repeated so many times that he didn’t even think twice on it anymore. It only became frustrating when he entered the dating world again after moving in with Sherlock. His dates would dump him when they would be insulted by his flatmate or when John would drop everything to rush to him. More than once, they believed he was lying when he stated that his sexuality was nothing more than heterosexual. And too many times, they believed Sherlock was the one he was shagging. One even told him off and said she wasn’t interested in being his beard…whatever that meant.

          But now, he was questioning himself. Looking back on it, he heavily defended his actions and was never able to see the perspective of those girls. Never seeing anything wrong with how he was with Sherlock. He blamed it on the girls just being jealous, clingy, overthinking, manipulative, and even overdramatic. He realizes now, he was wrong. Terribly wrong. Clearly, they weren’t complaining because he would simply rush to Sherlock’s aid on a serious case, they knew it was important. And they weren’t complaining just because Sherlock couldn’t remember their names. They had to have seen something in John that obviously showed them that Sherlock Holmes was his main priority for personal reasons he wasn’t saying. But a simple look of unaware longing, said more than he could deny.

          The idea of admitting to himself, fully, that his feelings for Sherlock were beyond the platonic, was terrifying. He knew it was okay to be gay, or anything else than straight. Considering he fully supported his sister’s sexual orientation. But he always felt that he couldn’t be different himself. He always held himself to an unfair standard that he needed to be what he was expected to be. A standard that he would then realize was internalized homophobia. Maybe even, toxic masculinity. Standards that told him he should only be rugged, strong, manly, and only allowed to love women.

So, being aroused by Sherlock was…scary, to say the least.

          He didn’t even want to dive in to what would happen if Sherlock were to find out that he was starting to feel this way. Since the start of their friendship, Sherlock made it clear that he didn’t date, men or women, and didn’t involve himself in romantic entanglement. By the way he sounded, it seemed like he was repulsed by the idea of having any one being intimate with him. This sparked curiosity in John and he wanted to question him more on whether Sherlock chose to be this way to protect himself or if he genuinely did not feel that type of desire. Either way, he didn’t think his feelings would be welcomed by the detective. Right?

_“…with all the looks you get daily, its not hard to see that you are attractive.”_

_“…I wasn’t talking about them!”_

Mrs. Hudson’s words replayed in his head.

          If she was implying what he thought she was implying…then does that mean that she’s seen Sherlock give him certain looks. Looks that were not of the ‘just friends’ kind. Looks that possibly were yearnful or of desire or even…sexual? Does Sherlock even get sexually aroused? He has a working, perfectly fit, body. It’s only natural for one’s body to become aroused, even without provocation or reason. Specially for males. Sherlock may not be sexually attracted to other people, but he does get erections, right?

          He looked over at the man next to him once more, checking if it was safe to be thinking on this right now. Sherlock was resting back in his seat, looking still very much annoyed and was reading some article on his phone. He had one leg crossed with his foot resting on his knee and his elbow resting against the car door with his unoccupied hand at his mouth, nibbling unconsciously on his thumb nail. John didn’t dare disturb him. Getting him here was hard enough and he didn’t fancy riding all the way to Mrs. Wilson’s house arguing with Sherlock over anything. So, he just looked at him, discreetly. Or as discreetly as he could as he returned to his thoughts on whether Sherlock experienced any form of sexual arousal or not.

          He scanned his eyes quickly over Sherlock’s body. He was obviously fit. Lean. And toned in the right places. Strong thighs, long legs. Big hands with strong grip. Broad shoulders with a lovely neck. And his face, well he wasn’t ugly. Not at all. Unique looking maybe but he was definitely not bad-looking. His eyes were the most unique. He always admired them. His cheek bones were very nice. But his lips were gorgeous. And seeing Sherlock with his thumb caressing his lips now, was killing him a little. His mind was already wanting to stray away into inappropriate places of what else would look amazing going in between those lips. But he forced himself not put himself through that. Not while sitting right next to him.

          Sherlock was always nicely dressed. He had his own dress code for himself. His hair was a routine that he never broke and always groomed. John had seen it plenty of times, Sherlock in the loo, fixing his curls to the way he wanted them to be. But funny enough, he wouldn’t say that Sherlock was vain, not at all really. Hell, he seriously didn’t care what people thought of his appearance. One day he came home covered head to toe in blood with an equally bloody harpoon in his hand and was only peeved about not being able to catch a cab.

          No, Sherlock did not care about what people thought about his appearance. Even if those people thought him to be attractive. 

Like Irene Adler.

          She liked him. A lot. She didn’t hide it. She looked at him like he was a piece of meat that she wanted to devour and honestly, he thought she would at some point. But Sherlock never flirted with her back or showed any temptations to be intimately involved with her. At least not until they thought she died, the first time, and he thought Sherlock was heartbroken. He reconsidered for a bit that maybe Sherlock did feel something towards the dominatrix. She was in fact very beautiful and sexy. He wouldn’t blame the man if he did at least feel a little something.

The sudden intrusive thought of Sherlock and Irene together having crazy, passionate sex popped in his head and it made him feel…

_“Does that make me special?”_

_“I don’t know, maybe.”_

_“You Jealous?”_

Yes. He was.

“John?” Sherlock spoke, shaking John out of his thoughts. “What’s wrong with you?”

          John blinked and cleared his throat when he realized his face was contorted in an angry scowl. He relaxed himself and tried to play it off as just trying to remember if he forgot anything at home. But Sherlock still stared at him with a skeptical brow. Not believing him at all. He knew Sherlock was reading him. Gathering deductions of what he was currently noticing about him. He tried his best to be as nonchalant as he could be. Self-conscious of any tells that he knows Sherlock usually looks out for. Like licking his lips or flexing his hand.

“If you’re regretting going to this dinner, remember its all your doing.” Sherlock grumbled.

“I’m not regretting anything.” John became defensive, “I’m going to have a nice time tonight and I’m not going to let you spoil it for me. Mrs. Wilson is expecting us, and I’m not going to disappoint her.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Please, you only said yes to this thing because you’re stubborn and whenever a woman asks you for anything, you make it your mission to please them. You don’t have any interest in playing the game, you just want to flirt.”

John was taken back, “What are you on about? Flirt? Who am I going to flirt with?”

“Any pretty girl that you will meet tonight, no doubt.”

“Wha-? Oh, so what? You have a problem if I meet a pretty girl there? Since when did you care?”

“I don’t!”

“Then?”

          Sherlock stayed silent. He just crossed his arms and looked out his window, glaring at his reflection. So much for not arguing. They were still in crappy moods from the terrible case but this sudden bickering about John potentially flirting with a girl came from somewhere else. He was just thinking about Sherlock being with a woman and that got him riled up but now Sherlock was thinking about John flirting with a woman and he was…jealous? Was that it? Or just annoyed? John wished there was a way to find out without directly asking. He was not about to make a fool of himself by starting that kind of conversation.

          But if Sherlock was jealous, then that’s good, isn’t it? Could mean that he had non-platonic feelings for him too? But if he does, then what? Would he tell Sherlock? Would they start dating? He wasn’t ready to start anything, let alone a homosexual relationship, he JUST figured this out! He was STILL figuring out, he doesn’t know what he wants! A relationship? Friends with benefits? Just a bit of experimenting? Does he even do that? _Oh god_ , He was getting ahead of himself. Sherlock would most likely reject him anyways, Mr. Married to My Work. Not to mention the whole ‘no one knows Sherlock’s sexual orientation.’ He would have to deal with this when they got home, thinking about this now was becoming more problematic for the doctor.

          They past the rest of the ride in silence. Expect for when Sherlock’s phone buzzed with a text alert. He answered quickly then put his phone away, “What's that about?” John asked.

“Nothing.” Sherlock replied.

John didn’t bother to push further but it did peeve him.

**********

          The driver finally pulled up to a lit drive way that led to a gorgeous two-story French provincial style home with well-trimmed gardens and trees. The sun was still high enough in the sky to have natural lighting but also low enough that the outside lights were already turning on by their timers, lighting up the walk ways and front yard, beautifully. The driver stopped the car directly in front of the walk way to the house entrance and politely dropped the men off.

          John took a deep breath in of fresh air and straightened himself out from sitting for so long. Sherlock walked past him and up to the front door of the Wilson’s house and rang the doorbell. John caught up with him and immediately cursed at himself, “Ssshit, I did forget something.”

“What?”

“It’s rude to come empty handed to a dinner party.”

“Since when?”

“Since always, you should know, you grew up posh-“

          Mrs. Wilson answered the door and greeted them wholeheartedly, looking beautiful as ever with a lovely dark blue dress, a long silver necklace, matching earrings and her dark hair in a lovely updo accented with hair jewelry in her bun, “Dr. Watson! Mr. Holmes! Lovely that you could join us! Come in, come in!” she ushered them in and immediately took their coats and hung them on a coat rack with a few others. “I’m so glad, you could make it. Dinner is just about ready, and we are just waiting on one more person, before we start. I trust Nathaniel was a perfectly adequate driver for you both?”

“Oh yes!” John nodded, “Thank you again, by the way. We really appreciate it.”

          Sherlock stayed quiet until John cleared his throat at him, “Yes, appreciated. So happy to be here.” He droned. John gave him a look to ease down on the sarcasm. But thankfully Mrs. Wilson didn’t notice his tone, or at least if she did, she didn’t show any signs of offense.

“Well, follow me, everyone else is already seated in the dining room,” she started leading them down the hall, passing all kinds of antique collections displayed along the walls, “I had just opened the champagne when you rang the door, would you like a flute?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you Mrs. Wilson.”

“Call me Olivia, please!” she smiled at John as they entered the dining room.

          The dining room was expectantly beautiful. The room was brightly lit by a stunning crystal chandelier. And in the middle, was a long white marble table decorated with flower arrangements and set with ten seats and ten sets of plates and utensils. Surrounding the table were the other guests who were already engrossed in conversation and sipping champagne.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce you all to Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.” Mrs. Wilson announced, the guests directed their attention to the three of them, “Some of you may know already that these are the men who helped me and my husband clear our names, and our company name, from horrible accusations that could have brought down our business and even send myself and my husband to prison. I owe them so much more than I could give them.”

          John responded kindly as Sherlock only smiled his ‘polite’ smile. The people closest to them rose from their seats and shook their hands, introducing themselves and Mrs. Wilson introduced the rest on the other side of the table for them. They meet Ed Johnson and Patricia Johnson who were an older couple in charge of the antique archives and collections, Jacob Brown who is Mr. Wilson’s assistant, Johnathan Evans who is their marketing manager and Ericka Price who is their main office manager.

          They all greeted John and Sherlock kindly and let the two men seat themselves at the table then immediately started asking questions about the case that saved all their jobs. Mrs. Wilson served them their champagne as they started to answer, Sherlock finally piped up and started showing off his famous talent and told them the exact deductions he had made that inevitably solved the case and saved their small but successful company.

          John couldn’t help but admire the git who was pissing him off the entire way here, as he made everyone around him awe in amazement. He loved seeing people being impressed by Sherlock, it made him feel proud. Until, of course, Sherlock starts making deductions about them and he ends up having to apologize on his behalf but hopefully they could hold off on that, at least for as long as possible. Right now, everyone was focused on Sherlock as he explained his profession as a consulting detective. John mentioned he had a blog online if anyone wanted to read up on some of their cases. Sherlock had to hold back a teasing comment on that and instead encouraged the others to take a look at it, which made John smile. He didn’t know why Sherlock suddenly started trying to actually behave but he wasn’t about to question it now, only hoping that Sherlock would actually let him have a nice night.

          They were still talking about cases when the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Wilson went to answer it. John could hear voices down the hall and then a few seconds later Mrs. Wilson reappeared with a young woman in tow. The young woman was dressed in a tight red dress and had long blonde hair and stunning green eyes. John was frozen in his seat.

“Our last guest is here!” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed, everyone greeted the new arrival with waves and hugging and compliments on her appearance, “Of course, these people you know, but may I introduce you to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. They-“

“Oh, I actually have met them before…” the young woman interrupted, “Well, him anyways.” She pointed to John.

“So, you’re Sherlock,” she walked up to the detective and held out her hand, “I’m Daisy Hills, don’t know if you remember my name.”

Sherlock shook her hand, “I’m sorry to say that I don’t.”

“Of course, not surprised.” she pointedly looked at John who awkwardly rose from his seat, “Hello, John.”

“Hello, Daisy.” He shook her hand, “How are you?”

“Fine. Well, fine as one could be when seeing their ex here at a private dinner.”

          Someone whispered on the other side of the table, John cleared his throat, “Well I didn’t know you would be here. Sherlock and I solved a case for the Wilsons over a month ago, did you hear about it?”

“Yes, I did actually. Mrs. Wilson hired me a few months ago as her receptionist for her main office. But I was on holiday when the incident happened. Needed a break you know?” she emphasized that last part.

          John awkwardly nodded as Sherlock just watched the whole scene with apparent interest. Thankfully Mrs. Wilson rescued him by serving Daisy some champagne and guided her to a seat farthest away from them. Conversation started to pick up again and John took a moment to groan quietly at himself for having just come face to face with one of his ex-girlfriends in front of people he just met. No one wants to run into an ex. Especially not at a small dinner party. On top of that, Sherlock was looking at him in utter amusement knowing that John was now regretting on coming here.

          You see, unlike the others, Daisy didn’t get to meet Sherlock in person, but only because he just never got around to it. He definitely mentioned her to Sherlock and Daisy heard a lot about his eccentric flatmate, but he never managed to get the two in the same room. And everything was going fine in their relationship until one morning, after spending the night at Daisy’s, after having two rounds of fantastic sex, he woke up to Daisy giving him the angry silent treatment. For days she wouldn’t tell him why she was upset with, just kept saying that she needed time to think. And when she was finally ready to talk, she immediately questioned his relationship with Sherlock. That, of course, upset him and he went through the routine motions of explaining his heterosexuality and that nothing was going on between them. But she didn’t believe him. And it escalated to a full-blown row and then Daisy broke up with him.

          Now he feels mortified that he literally was just realizing his attraction to Sherlock and now he’s here with Sherlock, with Daisy at Mrs. Wilson’s murder mystery dinner party.

_This is going to be hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I have an Instagram that I use to post about my fic and other Sherlock related things. Its still fairly new so its not a big deal but if you wanna check it out, I would love it if you did. @universalmind221  
> I will also be making a twitter soon.


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